Wreck This Journal, Sherlock Style!
by Ms. Moonstar
Summary: What if John gave Sherlock a "Wreck This Journal" book for the lull in between cases? A set of flash fiction pieces based on each entry.
1. Challenge Accepted

_**A/N: So I got this "Wreck This Journal", and am having a lot of fun with it. I started to wonder what Sherlock would do with one. These will all be flash fiction entries based on the entry of the journal. ** _

_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock Holmes. Wreck This Journal is the creation of Keri Smith. **_

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><p>"John, I'm bored." Sherlock huffed from his spot on the couch with his back to his friend. It had been three days since their last case, and with nothing new to occupy Sherlock, John was on the receiving end of his annoyance and childishness.<p>

"Check the website, Sherlock." John said patiently, while writing up a case on his blog.

"Did it already," Sherlock muttered, "boring. Three extra-martial affairs, two embezzlers, and a missing cat."

"And a partridge in a pear tree." John laughed, but it soon turned into an awkward cough when Sherlock shot him a look of annoyance. "You could go get the shopping."

"Not really the shop type." Sherlock grumbled.

"Of course you're not." John groused, closing the lid of his laptop and standing. "I'll go and get it, shall I?"

Sherlock just, "hmm"ed under his breath and John sighed, grabbing his coat from the chair, and descending the steps to 221A.

When he knocked, his landlady Mrs. Hudson answered the door.

"Oh, John! Come in!" She greeted him warmly, beckoning him in.

"No, that's okay, Mrs. Hudson. I'm just going to run to down to the shops. Do you need anything?"

She shook her head, "Not that I know of dear."

"Ah, okay. Well, Sherlock's in a bit of a mood right now because he's not on a case today, so don't mind him if he's being cheeky."

"Alright dear." She replied in her normal understanding tone. "Oh wait!" Mrs. Hudson left the door for a moment and returned with a book.

"My niece left this here when she visited," Mrs. Hudson explained, handing it too him. "It's called _Wreck This Journal. _I was thinking it might be good for Sherlock in between cases because, well-you know how he is."

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><p>John returned home with the groceries nearly an hour later. He set the bagged food on the kitchen table, and took another into the living room, where Sherlock was still curled on the sofa.<p>

"Here. Bought you something."

There was silence, and John wondered for a moment if Sherlock had actually fallen asleep, and then Sherlock turned over.

"What's that?" Sherlock grumbled, taking the book from his friend's hands. "Wreck this Journal."

"Yeah. Well it's something to get out you're frustration, more or less."

"It's for a child, John." Sherlock sneered.

"Well if the shoe fits..." John laughed, despite the glare that came from the detective.

"Look, you don't have to use it, I'll just give it to, I dunno-give it to Molly or something. (Sherlock snorted at this), "but I've got a date tonight, so you'll be on you're own. Try not to blow up the flat, okay?"

The reply was another monosyllable reply. Sighing, John went upstairs to change.

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><p>When John arrived home from his date around 11 o' clock, he plunked his keys on the table and went into the living room, and was not surprised to find that he flatmate was not there. Sherlock had a habit of being extremely lazy in between cases. He spied the journal with a post it note on the top cover. In Sherlock's messy penmanship was a brief. <em>"Challenge accepted John."<em>

John couldn't help but chuckle to himself and open the book to the information page where Sherlock's name was written in what he assumed was invisible ink (as he could read it), in big and small print and backwards.

This was going to be interesting.

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><p><strong>To Be Continued...<strong>

**So what did you think? Should I continue? **


	2. Crack the Spine and Numbering

_A/N: I'M back for another installment. I apologize for having to wait, I just didn't know how to write the next chapter. I'll try to write one every day. Thanks to cardinalfan13, TheGyrhan, and superster _for the reviews. I'm not much of an "artist" (can't draw) but love using my journal, and love it! I'm glad you like the story.

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><p>The next morning, it was no surprise to John to find Sherlock already up, watching something out of the window of their flat.<p>

"Potential client?" John asked, yawning.

"Nope." Sherlock answered simply. "Come and have a look."

John joined him by the window, and looked out to the street. There right in the middle of the thoroughfare was the journal he'd bought his friend facing down on the street. He sighed in exasperation. "When did you put that out there without getting run over. More importantly, why?"

Sherlock shrugged, "Following the directions, John. Could you run down and get it for me."

"What? You're not serious? Risk my limbs so I can get your journal that you placed out there?"

"Please." Sherlock replied, stalking off to the kitchen, "busy with an experiment."

John threw his his hands up. "Fine! Do me a favor and pick a better spot to put your journal!" He snapped and descended the steps to the street. After dodging three cars, John finally managed to pick up the book. He just had time to look up to see a car coming.

"Damn!" He yelped as he did a quick run for the pavement, just missing the oncoming car. "You've better have a good excuse for this, Sherlock!" he hissed.

John dodged another car and scuttled back into 221B. He paused and opened the journal to find that almost all the pages were blank until he reached the third or fourth one.

**_Crack the spine._**

John blinked for a moment, _ I wonder if giving this to Sherlock was a bad mistake. _Though he had to admit, it was creative interpretation for the detective. The next page made him chuckle.

_**Number each page. **_

In Sherlock normal scrawl was written:

"_This task is very monotonous and boring. What's the point when I won't be showing this to anyone? _

John was sure that when Sherlock wasn't looking, he'd definitely would take pictures with his phone.


	3. Shots and Shoes

**_A/N: Sorry that it took so long to get this out, I wasn't inspired, ironically enough. More soon though, I promise._ **

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><p>The sound of gunshots caused John to suddenly wake and sit bolt upright. He put on his dressing gown and charged out of bed, as the shots continued downstairs.<p>

Sherlock was sitting in his usual seat with a gun casually brandished at the opposite wall. When John looked over, he saw Sherlock's journal pinned to the wall next to the smiley face, with bullets riddling the page.

"What the hell are you doing?!" John finally erupted with anger, "It's half past seven in the bloody morning!"

"Following instructions," Sherlock murmured, "poking holes."

"_Poking holes_ is not the same as shooting it with a gun!" John snapped, as he went to pull the journal off from its spot. By the time John looked up, Sherlock had disappeared into the kitchen. The sound of clinking glass meant that Sherlock was in the middle of an experiment, and thus gave John a golden opportunity to look through it. He thumbed through the pages to find every single one riddled with bullet holes.

Before the bullet hole page was one that read: _**Stand here, jump up and down, wipe your feet.**_

Two perfect footmarks filled the paper with dark brown shoe stains. Underneath, it read _Care to make a deduction, John_?

John chuckled under his breath, "Smart arse."

The door opened and Mrs. Hudson, complete with her nighty and dressing gown barged in.

"Sherlock Holmes, have you been shooting my wall again?!"

**_TBC..._**


	4. Climb Up High

_A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and followed this fic. I am very pleased you all like it!_

Disclaimer still stands, I do not own Wreck This Journal (Keri Smith does) and Sherlock Holmes (ACD and BBC does.)

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><p>John was at the surgery when he got a phone call around 2 o'clock in the afternoon. He sighed and wondered if it was Sherlock trying to bother him during work again.<p>

"Hello? Sherlock, if you're trying to get me home early to do the shopping-"

"Hello, John, it's Greg." Lestrade's voice came over the line.

John put his hand on his head, "What's he's done this time?" John asked like a parent getting a phone call from a headmaster.

"You know that journal you gave him? Well he threw it off the Shard."

"Oh God," John muttered, "I'll be there in half an hour."

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><p>Greg Lestrade met John at the holding cells at New Scotland Yard. The DI handed the journal back to him while trying to keep a straight face.<p>

"You know who this happened to hit when Sherlock threw it off the top floor?" When John shook his head, Lestrade continued, "Peter McCart."

John gaped for a moment, "The Secretary of State for Scotland? Christ, Sherlock!"

"Luckily, he didn't press any charges because he thought it was funny. Even did up a page," He flipped through until he reached the designated spot in the book that said _This page is a sign, what do you want it to say? _And underneath was the message "Always look up before you walk. You never know what might hit you."

John broke into a chuckle while Greg tried to remain serious. "This is no laughing matter John." A moment later, a huge grin spread over his face. "Actually it is, really. Who'd thought a little journal could get him into trouble like this."

"Damn, I really am regretting giving him this." John sighed.

Now it was Greg's turn to be gobsmacked. "_You _gave him this? Given his personality?!"

John just shrugged. "I just thought it would be good for in between cases. I didn't expect him to throw it off the bloody Shard!"

"Well, give it back to him, and tell him not to do anything that could get him arrested, okay John?" Lestrade said firmly, then laughed again.

**TBC...**


	5. A Touch of Drama

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed, sorry this took so long to get uploaded._

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><p>When John arrived home and opened the door to 221B, there was an eerie silence in the flat. John wondered if Sherlock had finally gotten a case, but then dismissed it because he would always be informed if there was one. His eyes drifted to the floor and his heart stuttered. Blood. There was blood on the floor. John followed the trail with his eyes and saw Sherlock slumped in his chair, with blood dripping on his fingers.<p>

"Sherlock!" John shouted, and rushed over to his friend and instantly was looking him over to see if there was any other injuries. After a moment, John sighed in exasperation when he saw the detective's eyes pop open and a slight smile tugged at his lips.

"Why hello, John."

"Sherlock, you bloody bastard!" John threw his hands up and stepped back, "Tell me that's not real blood you dripped all over the floor!"

"Nope." The detective answered simply with a shrug of his shoulders.

"No as in is it's not blood? Or no as in that's not _your_ blood?"

"Neither." Sherlock stood up and went to the kitchen where he wiped his fingers off with a towel. "It was paint. Mrs. Hudson bought it for my 'project'." He rolled his eyes. "I was determining how far a knife could be thrown at a target without missing it. He picked up the journal where a slit now resided in a target, and the same red paint was splattered on the page.

"You know, if this were anyone else, it would look suspicious." John groused. "Good thing it's you we're talking about here."

"I couldn't resist a touch of drama, John." Sherlock laughed as his flatmate continued to scowl at him.


	6. Draw a Non-Stop Line

_a/n: I am so sorry, I got a little lazy and then went on vacation for a few days. *bows down for forgiveness* I would like to know if you want me to go in order of the pages in the journal, or mix them up. Please let me know. Thanks and enjoy!_

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><p>John had gotten up and ready for work with the odd sense that the house was too quiet. When he entered the kitchen to make himself coffee, he popped his head into the living room and didn't find Sherlock laying around anywhere. John shrugged, brushing it off and thinking that his flatmate had gone to pester Lestrade for cold cases again. After he had showered and dressed, John returned to the kitchen to eat breakfast, suddenly feeling slightly lonely in the silent apartment. John shook it off and finished getting ready for work, but not before texting Sherlock.<p>

_Where are you?-JW_

_Busy. -SH_

_Not getting into trouble, are you? -JW_

_Conducting an experiment. I don't know when I'll be home. -SH_

_You didn't answer my question. -JW_

_I. AM. NOT. GETTING. INTO. TROUBLE! -SH_

_Alright. I'll see you...when I see you. -JW_

_-Tell Mrs. Hudson to stay out of our flat. I don't want her to move my eyeball experiment into the trash again. -SH_

_Bye, Sherlock -JW_

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><p>When John went up the seventeen steps to 221B, it was not a surprise to him that Sherlock was not home yet. A quiet night at Baker Street is just what he wanted after his long, stressful day at the surgery. Maybe he would order in some Chinese food, work on his blog, and maybe even check some emails he'd been meaning to look at for a while.<p>

John had done all of them in a matter of hours before he'd fallen asleep in the chair. A chirp from his phone woke him from his doze with amazing speed. He looked at the time, 2:11 am.

_Experiment concluded, heading home now. -SH_

The fatigue had almost completely worn off now, John couldn't help but wonder what Sherlock was experimenting on. _Probably on corpses again_ he thought, but decided to stay up and see what Sherlock's results all, if it went well, the detective would be in a good mood for a few days.

Nearly fourty-five minutes later, Sherlock pounded up the steps to his awaiting flatmate. When John looked up, he was a little startled by his flatmate's appearance. Sherlock looked tired and pale, more so than normal. "So what have you been doing all day? Your experiment?"

"Determining how long it would take to ride every Tube train in London."

"You know, someone's already done that, it's in the Guinness World Record book." John snipped, not looking up from his computer.

"Yes, but I wanted to calculate which lines were slower than others. I have it documented here." And so saying, Sherlock handed the journal to John and pointed out the page where it read: **Draw a non-stop line **and had diagrammed all the Tube lines.

"You could have just gone on the internet to find out. Ya need a better way to occupy your time, Sherlock." John rolled his eyes at the fact that he'd stayed up for something that stupid, shut off his computer and went to bed.

_**TBC...**_


	7. Rain and Stamps

_A/N: Oh my gosh, thank you everyone who has faved and followed this story, have left reviews, and have fave and followed me as an author. I went to bed with 7 follows, and now am up to 16! I am very very appreciative, and to prove it, have written a slightly longer chapter this time. Enjoy!_

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><p>The <em>tap tap tap<em> of falling rain was John's wake up call. Groaning, he got out of bed and padded to the kitchen for some coffee. His brow furrowed when he again did not hear Sherlock about in the flat. Perhaps he was still asleep? Then again, his flatmate had the habit of going out in all weather. His coffee brewed, John found himself drawn to the window from some odd reason. The raindrops were like tears as they slid down the windows. It was then that he looked down and saw his flatmate sitting on the pavement with an umbrella in one hand, and his journal in the other. Some passersby, thinking that he was a beggar, placed coins in the crease of the journal. John rolled his eyes and threw the window open.

"Sherlock, it's 18 degrees outside! Come inside before you catch pneumonia, you idiot!" John shouted down at him, before slamming the window shut again.

Sighing resolutely, Sherlock closed the book (complete with coins inside), and went inside 221.

When his friend came up the stairs, John was greeted with a very loud sneeze.

"Bless." John said, handing him a handkerchief, which the detective gratefully blew into, before trying to hand it back to him.

"Um...just keep that. Looks like you'll be needing it." John remarked, trying not to laugh, "It looks like you're getting a cold from your little excursion outside. What were you doing, anyway?"

Without answering, Sherlock handed John the book, which he opened to the pro-offered page.

**_Take this journal into the shower with you_**

"Wouldn't it have been easier to take it in, I dunno, the actual shower with you?"

Sherlock shrugged, "It can be interpreted any way, so I took it out when it was raining."

"And caught a cold for the effort." John said, with a slight shake of his head. "Well, at least you made..." he silently counted the coins, "3 pounds 10."

"I don't have-" Sherlock began, but was cut off by a sneeze again.

"Yeah, you do, get out of your wet clothes and take a warm bath. I'll make some tea. "

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><p>About half an hour later, Sherlock was laying on the couch with a afghan covering him, and a pile of letters laying next to him. John was at his computer, and looked up every few minutes. The sound of tearing paper caught his attention.<p>

"What are you doing?" John asked, still typing on his computer.

"Tearing up letters. Not worth my time and it's very therapeutic. "

"Whatever makes you happy, mate." John sighed.

"Could you fetch the glue from the kitchen? It's in the second drawer next to the coffeepot."

"Or you could get it yourself," John snapped.

"You told me not to get up." Sherlock argued.

John groaned and went into the kitchen to fetch what turned out to be super glue, and returned to Sherlock's side. He looked down to find a rather large pile of ripped paper and envelopes, and an equally large pile of used stamps.

"Care to clue me in?" He asked, pointing to the stamps.

"You know my methods, John." Sherlock acknowledged, "It's for a project."

**_TBC..._**


	8. Sample Various substances

A/N: _I'm sorry that it's been eight days since I've updated, but to be honest, I struggled with this chapter because I'm not an chemist. No seriously, I had no idea what kind of experiments Sherlock would carry out, so I fell back on something familiar. Internet cookie if you can guess!__ I think from now on though, I'll give myself a week in between chapters so I have time to research and think them through.__ As always, thanks very much to my reviewers, watchers, and people who fave this story. I greatly appreciate it!  
><em>

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><p>There was a shout from the kitchen as John ascended the 17 steps to 221b after a long day at work. It was raining outside again, and much to his relief the fireplace was lit. Shrugging off his coat, John took a few steps and found his flatmate in the kitchen.<p>

"Anything in?" John asked, strutting into it and to the fridge, silently praying that the food would not be near body parts again.

"Mmmm.." Was the response from Sherlock, who was busy with a chemistry experiment.

John dug out some left over Chinese take-away, and puttered around the small confines of the kitchen to prepare it.

While the left overs were heating up, John looked over his shoulder at Sherlock's experiment. Next to him was the journal, opened to the page that read:

**Sample various substances found in your home. Document what they are. Create color schemes. **

_Liquid Chlorine_ had already been label under a sickly yellowish color_, _and_ iodine (_which was a dark orange_). _There was also a odd foot shaped plant next to it.

"What's this, then?" John asked picking it up.

"Poison. Luckily not one that involves touch." Sherlock commented when John threw it down.

"Anything interesting?"

"Old cold case. Female chemist tried to kill her husband by poisoning him and then set a bomb to look like a leak."

"Try not to blow up the flat then, I'd like a nice quiet night in." John snipped as he retrieved his dinner from the microwave and went to his desk to sit down.

Some time later, John set his plate aside at his desk and was about to type up his blog, when Sherlock interrupted him.

"John, could you go get some milk? I'd like some for tea tomorrow."

"You realize that I just got home a little over an hour ago?" John snapped, returning his attention to his computer.

"Please." Sherlock responded without moving away from his microscope.

John huffed and closed the laptop. "Fine."

"Take my card, get anything else we need."

John paused, "Are-are you trying to get rid of me?"

Sherlock pulled away long from the experiment to roll his eyes at him.

"Because leaving you alone with that is obviously a clue."

"I can handle poison, John."

"Okay." John put his hands up defensively. He fished Sherlock's wallet from his coat in the living room and called, "I'll be back soon!"

"Mmmm" was the only audible response.

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><p>John was gone for nearly half an hour when he finally returned to the flat. Looking up, John could see that the window was open, the curtains fluttering with a gentle breeze. Not unusual on such a nice night. He lumbered up the stairs, shifting the bags in his hands for balance.<p>

"Sherlock, I'm ba-" John began to place the groceries on the table when he stopped. Laying face down on the kitchen floor was Sherlock.

John's heart began to pound, "Sherlock!" He rushed over to his flatmate and turned him into a recovery position. Instantly, John went into doctor mode, checking Sherlock's pulse and breathing and finding them slow, but improving. How long had he been like this?

Much to John's relief, Sherlock's eyes fluttered open and he coughed weakly, "John." he rasped.

"Sherlock, what the hell happened? Let me guess, that poison?"

Sherlock could only nod slightly.

"Right, I'm getting you to the hospital." John affirmed, whipping out his phone.

Sherlock hand stopped him, "No, 'm fine, just need to sleep. Made me weak. Window's open."

John snipped, "Yeah, I noticed that."

"Poison was strong, needed to vent it while experimenting."

John nodded in understanding. If the detective hadn't had this foresight, he could have easily died. "So you were trying to get rid of me, then."

"Couldn't risk it, John. Found the answer though. _Radix pedis diaboli_." Sherlock rasped after a cough.

"Ta." As much as John admired Sherlock's genius, he couldn't help that his friend was a bit of a moron when it came to common sense. "Right. Off to bed then. Can you stand?" So saying, he assisted Sherlock off the kitchen floor.

"Couch. Bring my journal and my pen."

"Fine," John huffed, aiding his friend to the couch, then retrieved the journal and pen. Already, sleep was beginning to sweep Sherlock under its depths.

"Sherlock," John, "next time you do a dangerous experiment that threatens your health, let me stick around, okay?"

"Mmm." Sherlock muttered as he finally dropped off into sleep.

**_TBC..._**


	9. Swing Wildly

John heard a _thunk_ that had no doubt meant that Sherlock was awake. He had closed his eyes and attempted to back to sleep. John heard the _thunk_ again and groaned, opening one eye to look at the clock that read half past eight. He pulled the covers over his head; leave it to the detective to wake him up early on his day off. More determined than ever to ignore the noise and get back to sleep, John squeezed his eyes shut. He was just about to doze off when he heard the sound of glass breaking downstairs. Startled upright, John threw back his covers, put on his dressing gown, and made a hasty descent downstairs to the first floor of the flat.

Sherlock was in his pajamas and dressing gown as well, a string wrapped around his right hand, the journal (tied horizontally by the spine) on the other end of it.

Not giving any signal that he was in the room, John narrowly missed being smacked in the face by the book by mere inches. Sherlock expertly swung and hit another plate that looked like they came from a charity shop, shattering it.

"What the hell are you doing?" John demanded.

Upon hearing his flatmate, the arm brandishing his journal went limp, and Sherlock looked at him blankly, "Ah good morning, John. Sleep well?"

"I would have been even better had I actually slept in!" John snarled, "And you didn't answer my question. What the **hell** are you doing at half past eight in the morning?"

"Working on my reflexes," Sherlock said simply, "I have to keep them sharp."

"Why couldn't you take a karate class or something?" John moaned, more annoyed now.

"I already know four different forms of self defense, why would I waste my time with low IQ amateurs?" Sherlock sneered.

John put his hands up defensively, "Alright," he sighed and looked at the shattered pieces of chinaware. "Where'd you get the extra plates from?"

"From a charity shop down the Marylebone high street. I saw an opportunity. Mrs. Hudson went to the shops, so there would be no ire from her."

John blinked owlishly at him, "But you didn't mind that your flatmate might have wanted to get some sleep? Or even our neighbors?" he pointed to the wall on his left.

Sherlock shrugged, "I know that you are an early riser due to your stint as a military man and rounds as a doctor. Our neighbors on the left leave around eight in the morning for work. Our neighbors on the left have gone to Guernsey for a holiday, according to Mrs. Hudson's mindless chatter." John had thought of asking why Sherlock should listen to their landlady's talking, when the text alert sounded at the detective's desk.

Sherlock picked it up and read it, his face brightening with interest, "Finally! Lestrade may have some cases for us." He brushed by John into his own room and closed the door.

"Shouldn't I come with you?" John inquired through the door.

"Best to see if they're even worth looking into, John," Sherlock shouted back. In a few minutes time, the detective reappeared fully dressed.

"I'll text you if there's anything." Sherlock commented, and was down the stairs before John could get another word out.

He sighed, and with an sign of exasperation, decided to leave the mess and the impending shouting from Mrs. Hudson for Sherlock and went back to bed.

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><p><em>AN: I know, it's been a long time. I got stuck on trying to think of how to do one entry, lost my creative spark for writing this, then got into a slight rut for a while. It felt good to be writing again so I will try to keep the momentum going, Thanks for sticking with me and I hope you enjoyed the story. _


	10. Make A Paper Chain

_a/n: Yay, I actually did it, got the story in on a deadline! Sorry it took so long to get this up. Thank you again to everyone who faves and follows this story. I appreciate it!  
><em>

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><p>Snip, snip. The sound of the scissors clipping had been going on for nearly half an hour, waiting for the Chinese take away to arrive. John looked up from his computer across to Sherlock's desk.<p>

"What are you doing?" John asked as he observed his flatmate snipping lines on a page of the journal. Sherlock finally put aside the shears, and began to re-arrange the pieces that had been cut.

"Nothing," Sherlock replied shortly, though it was obvious that his flatmate was concentrating on something. Occasionally, Sherlock would pick up a pen and write something, then throw it aside and continue his work.

Twenty minutes went by, and finally there was a knock at their door, and Mrs. Hudson appeared, "John, you're take away arrived." She announced, handing him the plastic bag laden with food.

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson," John replied congenially. She peeked into the apartment and found Sherlock at his desk, "What is he-?"

"His journal," John said with a nonchalant shrug.

"Would have thought he would have finished it by now, knowing him." Mrs. Hudson muttered.

"I would have, if I stopped having interruptions." Sherlock called back without looking up.

"Oh!" She gasped, sounding slightly offended.

"Sorry, Mrs. Hudson," John apologized on his flat mate's behalf, "Thank you for bringing this up for us."

When he had closed the door, Sherlock let out a cry of triumph and stood up.

"John, I found the formula!" He rushed over to him and presented the journal. The little strips of papers where connected every which way, on each was a chemical compound, some of which John didn't recognize.

"These are the chemicals that killed the three factory workers in that biochemical plant." Sherlock announced, pointing at one of them.

"They worked at the chemical factory, how would the workers' deaths be suspicious?" John queried, a nagging sense of deja vu beginning to form in the back of his mind.

"Because they died with chemicals that they're line of work never came in contact with. Such as strychnine." Sherlock answered.

"Great, you can tell that to Greg later, now come and get your dinner before it gets cold." John turned and started for the kitchen.

Sherlock blinked at him, "I just solved the case John, in twenty minutes! The police have been stumbling around it for four months!"

"Your a graduate chemist, it's not a surprise. I actually," John paused remembering what Greg had told him, "I forgot to tell you. Lestrade told me that Scotland Yard came up with the same conclusion as you did just now about a month ago. Sorry," he stated.

For the first time in their long friendship, Sherlock Holmes was speechless.

**TBC...**


	11. Glue a Random Page from a Newspaper Here

After a tiring day a the surgery, John trudged up the seventeen steps to the flat, grateful to be home. Sherlock had texted that he had wanted take-away, and John begrudgingly obliged to stop at Angelo's to get some food.

"Sherlock, I'm-" John began as he stepped through the door, then his mouth slung to the floor. The entire sitting room of the apartment was littered with newspapers. Not just in one or two places like on chair or even the coffee table, but literally everywhere that one could be laid down. Sherlock sat on the floor, scissors in hand, glue, and journal being kept open with his decorative skull. John tried to hold down his annoyance as he cleared his throat and finally spoke. "Painting the flat?"

"Looking for words." Sherlock answered flatly, not bothering to look up to address him.

"Any in particular? _The, he, she, it?_" John mocked which earned him an annoyed glare from his flatmate. John screwed up his face, "How long have you been at this?"

"Couple of hours," Sherlock replied flatly, looking up only once. He immediately went back to work, and John went to the kitchen to put the food onto plates.

Nearly an hour later, the meals finished (Sherlock had not eaten much of his, being busy with his project), John threw off the papers that were strewn on his chair and was about to relax and watch some telly.

There was a growl, and John looked over to see Sherlock looking rather cross. The doctor could see papers being flung while his flatmate muttered under his breath.

John smiled and pretended not to be paying attention, "What are you looking for, Sherlock?"

"An article, June 14th. " Sherlock growled, annoyed as pages of newsprint went flying every which way. John sighed putting his hand through his hair, and went to his hands and knees to help. More paper was slung as both men said the papers' dates under each of their breaths. The doctor stood, and stood to look through the newspapers. He began to shift through the ones on the sofa, when his eyes fell on a date that was one on the coffee table. _June 14th_. Picking this up, he plunked it into his flat-mate's lap. "That the right one?" He asked in an amused tone.

Sherlock blinked for a moment, then said, "Thank you, John."

"So," John sat next to the detective, "What exactly is the instructions for this page?" Then he glanced over.

**Glue a random page from a newspaper here. **

There were some articles that had the headline "_Hat Man and Robin_" and "_Sherlock and John: Blogger Detectives_"

The two chuckled as Sherlock snipped the article out and glued it into the journal. "I'd be lost without my blogger."

John stood up and patted Sherlock's shoulder. "And you get to clean up this mess tonight." He declared, and went to bed.

_TBC..._

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><p><em><strong>AN: A bit sappy, sorry! Hope you enjoyed it anyway. Laterz!**_


	12. Scribble Widly and Collect Random Items

_A/N: Nearly didn't make the Wed deadline, but here it is! I had so much fun writing this chapter. Thank you so much to everyone who is and has followed and favorited this story. Enjoy!_

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><p>"I'm bored." Sherlock complained for the third time in an hour. Sherlock was dressed, but was laying languidly on the couch. The detective had spent the morning and New Scotland Yard looking through cold cases, some which he solved within half an hour. Finding very little to challenge him, Sherlock returned to the flat determined to voice his complaints about the criminal class to John, who drowned out the complaints with the television.<p>

John sighed, "You have you're journal why don't you work on that?"

Sherlock nodded, and his flatmate saw him flipping through the pages, until there was a look of interest from a page. "Hand me a pen would you?"

John did so, but not without muttering, "you forgot the magic word."

Sherlock didn't seem to hear him and began to scribble on the page, carefully at first, and then with more gusto. Sherlock's face was one of concentration, while John could hear the scribbling getting louder and was sure that the paper would rip at any second. After a moment, his flatmate threw down the pen.

"Finished! what else?"

"You mean what page can you take your frustrations out on next?" Laughed John.

Sherlock leaved through the book, then said, "John, I'm bored. Let's go for a walk."

"Bored with the journal already?" John muttered under his breath, then louder, "Alright, maybe we could get something to eat on the way back." He turned off the tv, grabbed his coat, and following the detective downstairs. Even though it was close to six in the evening, John could see the journal under Sherlock's left arm.

"So..." John said, hoping to start a conversation, "What does the next entry of the journal say to do?"

Sherlock shot John a look, then with an annoyed sigh, handed the journal which he opened to a marked page.

**Collect Random items here. I.E. things you find in the couch, on the street, ect. **

"Okay...okay." John seemed to be thoughtful. "I guess this would be a bit of a challenge for you." He looked around, then spotted a feather which he picked up. "How about this?"

"Boring," Sherlock shot down John's discovery.

A few blocks more and John spotted something shining on the pavement, which turned out to be a 50p coin. When John handed it to Sherlock, his nose wrinkled when he saw how grimy it was.

"Sloppy, clumsy person. interesting." Sherlock said, as he put the coin between the pages and closed the book.

A few more meters, Sherlock stopped on the sidewalk, and bent down. What he had picked up was the arm of a baby doll. John looked a little bemused, but just shrugged, "Whatever floats your boat."

In nearly an hour, even as the sun went down, Sherlock and John found a blank check for 46 pounds, a passive-aggressive note that demanded the return of potted plant (_Who on Earth would do that? _John wondered), a broken record of an obscure band from the sixties, and an I.D. that Sherlock immediately could tell was fake.

When they entered the Chinese food place on the way home, Sherlock sat while John placed the order.

"Ta," John said and turned to sit, then realized with some horror that Sherlock was at the table gluing the object they had found onto the page.

"You know, we could have waited till we got home before you did this." John admonished, looking around at the other patrons. He sat and tried to cover the side of his face as the other customers looked on in horror at all the junk spread out on the surface of the table.

_**TBC...**_


	13. Color Entire Page and One Word

_A/N: I am absolutely floored by how many people like this story. Thank you again to everyone who has faved and followed "Wreck This Journal"!_

NarutoRox: Oh, no doubt he did, much to the horror of the customers of the restaurant! Thanks for the continued reviews.

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><p>A rainy day had descended on the city of London, trapping John and Sherlock indoors for the duration after John returned home from work. They had finished a case earlier in the week, leaving them without anything to do in the meantime, and had Sherlock griping about how lazy the criminal class was in London. Eventually, John sat down with a glass of wine in his chair to watch QI, while Sherlock worked on his journal, as his flatmate suggested.<p>

Every now and then, Sherlock lifted his head from the couch to see, then plop his head back down and continue working on the pages of the book. Once and a while, John heard him mutter, "Moron" and continued to work.

Near ten o'clock, after an episode of "Doctor Who", The Graham Norton Show, and the evening news, John clicked the tv off and stood to stretch. He looked over to find Sherlock in his "thinking" position, with his fingers under his chin and eyes closed. Sherlock was in his mind palace, maybe because he was bored, or because he was recalling an old case in his mind. In any case, Sherlock was never aware of anything else when he was there. It was John's perfect opportunity.

John gingerly picked up the book that was for the most part, still empty. It only took him a few moments to find the pages Sherlock had done that night.

The first page was** Color This Entire Page**. The detective had drawn the entire kitchen table full of beakers, experiments and what not in blue pen (_Well it does say that the instructions can be interpreted anyway he or she wants, _John mused internally). It suddenly struck John that Sherlock hadn't been paying attention to the television when he'd lifted his head, but was observing what was on the table (though he was perhaps, listening). John was also taken aback at how well Sherlock could draw. "One of his many hidden talents, I'm sure." John muttered.

The next entry was further in the book and read:

**Write one word over and over**

In big letters that filled both pages was the word _**bored!** Of course that would be the word he choose, _John thought with a roll of his eyes. It was written in English and in several different languages, such as Latin, Russian, Farsi, and Sanskrit, so that the pages were completely filled, and no doubt did not alleviate the said boredom.

"Enjoying my journal?" came the voice of Sherlock Holmes. John yelped and the book flew into the air before hitting the table with a decided 'thunk'. leaving Sherlock looking annoyed, and John slightly shamefaced.

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><p>TBC...<p> 


	14. Document a Boring Event in Detail

_A/n: I can't tell you how happy I am for all the reviews, follows and faves I've received. You all are great!_

_**LifeonMarsgirl**: Yeah, he pretty much complained that it was for a child, but ended up actually doing the journal is one where your friend has to do something destructive without the journal owner looking; I'm still trying to think of a funny way to do it. Thanks so much!_

_**Icecat**: thank you!_

_**DayFlow**: Thanks!_

_**NarutoRox**: Thank you, I'm glad! Sherlock has no shame, and yeah he does use those phrases a lot, huh? Thank you for your continuing reviews!_

_Here is the journal entry where he writes "bored" in different languages (I hope you don't mind) : / art /Sherlock-WTJ-Page-456249235 (without spaces)_

_I also apologize for the shortness of this chapter. Better one on Wed. I promise!_

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><p>"John," Sherlock asked, scribbling something in his journal from the couch, "what time is it?"<p>

His flatmate just _tsk_ed and glanced at the bottom right of the computer screen. This had started earlier in the day, when he asked while eating breakfast. John just assumed Sherlock didn't have his phone on him (since he was in his bed sheet). He'd ask at lunch, then at tea. Now it was half past 6 in the evening and it really was getting annoying.

"Half seven." John replied with a clipped tone, "Sherlock, what's wrong with the clock on your smart phone?"

"The phone is on my desk." Sherlock said, sounding bored.

"And you couldn't be bothered to walk 5 steps and get it?" John groused in exasperation. He leaned across the desk and retrieved his flat-mate's phone, and threw it to him, which Sherlock surprisingly caught without looking up.

A few minutes later...

"What time is it, John?"

John slammed down the mug of tea he was drinking so hard that it nearly exploded on impact.

"Why can't you use your phone?!" John snapped, his patience long gone. "Is it too much effort to turn it on?"

Sherlock just shrugged, which infuriated his flatmate even more.

Grabbing his jacket, John began to storm out of the flat without saying another word to Sherlock. That would only produce more irritation on his behalf.

"John?" Sherlock called.

He turned, expecting (or rather) hoping for some form of explanation, or even better, (though less likely to happen) an apology of sorts.

"Get me some Gobstoppers if you're going to the store, would you?"

John slammed the door in response.


	15. Spill Coffee, Document Dinner

_A/N: I again thank everyone for faving and following this fic and hope you enjoy this chapter more than the last._

l'intrus: Thank You!

NarutoRox: He is a bad flat-mate, no? Yeah I think everyone has that idea!

dayflow: I have to re-write this chapter, but I like your ideas for what he writes down.

Thanks for the reviews!

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><p>Their morning had begun as normal at it could at 221b Baker Street. John and Sherlock (who had decided to dress in his pajamas that morning) were eating breakfast. When he finished the cup of coffee, Sherlock had tilted it so that the last drips were splashed onto the paper of the journal. John was not surprised at this, raising one eyebrow before returning to his own meal.<p>

"Are you done with your cup?" Sherlock asked. John shrugged and pushed the now cold cup of coffee towards his flatmate.

Sherlock hummed as thanks and poured John's remaining coffee onto the page, with a satisfied half smile.

"Having fun?" John asked, as he finished the sausages on his plate an nodded towards the page that Sherlock was on in the Journal.

_**Pour, spill, drip, spit, fling your coffee here. **_

"Mmmm. Just passing the time." Sherlock replied.

Around two in the afternoon, John looked up from his computer when he heard a slight scraping sound. His flatmate was hunched down, using a plastic fork that had been dipped in something-red, he supposed. Then he asked, "What are you doing?"

"Correlating the distance between the blood and the body found on Chancery Lane. I am sure that he did not get into a taxi and go three fourths of a mile just to die in some random street."

"Oh," John responded, not wanting to find out just what the red he was, John returned his attention to the computer.

At seven o' clock they were eating lunch of left over Italian when he found Sherlock dragging a forlorn piece of pasta across the pages which read:

_**Document your dinner, rub, smear, splatter your food here. Use this page for a napkin.** _

John could not help but point out that this was less than sanitary, but decided it was wasted on his flate-mate, as Sherlock tended to keep bloody heads and thumbs stored in their and Mrs. Hudson's fridge. _All thing considered, this is mild for Sherlock, _John thought, and returned to his dinner.

"I've got it, John!" Sherlock announced, pounding the table for a moment, and causing the silverware to shift. "I know how that man died in Chancery Lane!" He didn't get into a cab, he was dragged that three fourths of a mile!"

"Sherlock," John interrupted Sherlock flow of deduction, "We've discussed this? No bloody conversations about gruesome murders when we're eating, yeah?"

Annoyed, Sherlock sat down, and without another word, finished his dinner.

_TBC..._


	16. Sell this Page, and Fingerprints

_A/N: I'm sorry I didn't post on Saturday, but I was lazy and wasn't in the mood to write. I hope you all enjoy these entries. And thanks again for the faves and follows for this story!_

_Narutorox: yeah, I'm sure of it. I'll have to write the favorite fragrance entry next._

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><p>The slamming of the door caught John in a moment of surprise, causing him to look up. It was not Sherlock standing in the living room seething, but Lestrade.<p>

"Greg, what brings you here?" John asked pleasantly, but the look on the police inspector's face was less than friendly.

"Do you know what Sherlock did?!" Lestrade demanded. John opened his mouth to reply that he hadn't when Greg pulled Sherlock's journal from the pocket of his jacket and threw it onto John's desk.

John looked at the detective inspector puzzled, but flipped through the journal.

"I marked out the page," He responded patiently.

When John turned to it, and read: **Sell This page**.

John blinked owlishly, at the instructions, but his mouth gaped at the bottom and in the white spaces where Sherlock's messy penmanship had written.

I will give you the solutions following cases for the following demands:

_1.) More interesting cases_

_2.) No further unauthorized entries to 221B Baker St._

_3.) Anderson and Donovan not present when I am at scene._

_4.) Don't talk when I am thinking_

John looked from Lestrade to the page again, then shrugged, "They're not unfair demands."

"I break every rule already so that he can have a case!" Lestrade shouted throwing his hands up, "and it's not like every case I give him is boring!"

"I'll try to talk to him." John affirmed, trying to wipe the smile off his face.

"Don't bother," Greg groused, tell him I agree." Greg groused.

"By the way, how did you get this?" John asked, holding up the journal.

Greg grimaced, "had to take it from him when he started getting fingerprints from everyone and disrupting their work. I marked that one, too." With that, Lestrade swiftly turned and slammed the door on the way out.

When he heard the Detective Inspector go down the stairs, John turned to the assigned entry and read,

This page is for handprints and fingerprints. Get them dirty and press down.

Underneath of this were the fingerprints of no less than fifty people, including Sherlock's own, his, and those of Lestrade, Anderson, Donovan, Dimmock, Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson.

John decided with a shake of his head that he wouldn't try to find out how his flat-mate had gotten some of these finger prints. Flipping back to the other page, he wrote "SOLD" in big bold letters, then closed it and went out to get dinner.

TBC...


	17. Fill with Favorite Fragrance, Float

_A/N: Sorry this was so late, I can't seem to get them done until past midnight! As always, thanks to my subscribers for this story, I appreciate it. _

_natalieashe: Definitely! Thank you so much!_

_NarutoRox: I'm glad you like the last chapter. Thank you for your continued support!_

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><p>An faint, oddly sweet smell greeted John as he stepped into 221B after work. He sniffed the air, then his eyebrows knit together. It was familiar, something that was a vague memory in the back of his mind. John heard the water running in the bathroom and knew that Sherlock was taking a shower.<p>

"Up to me to find the answer then." John muttered under his breath, and taking off his coat.

He sniffed around the flat, trying to gauge were the smell originated from. At time it was so strong that John was sure that he found it, and then was disappointed to see that it was not there. Why would Sherlock hide it?

Then he tried to think as Sherlock often did. _Observe and deduce, John, _Sherlock often said.

It was definitely feminine, and was a scent that was heavy in the air. The fragrance smelled slightly of Cinnamon, coupled with leather, and citrus. It almost made his head swim being so overpowering an odor. John searched high and low, but found no trace.

Finally, John came to the realization that smell could be masked by another scent, and went to the fridge, were a bloody head was residing, as well as a bag of thumbs. Lifting the disgusting bag of appendages, John found the bottle of perfume that was in a square bottle perched below it.

John fished it out and squirted some of the liquid into the air. No doubt, it was the same smell. Then it came to him, _This is the perfume that Irene Adler wore._

"Is there any particular reason that you are sniffing the air like a canine, John?" came the voice of Sherlock Holmes behind him, causing him to jump. Sherlock was dressed in his pajamas, journal in hand.

"This was Irene Adler's perfume, wasn't it?" John asked abruptly, holding up the bottle.

At this, Sherlock's face clouded, "Your point, John?" Sherlock countered, his look becoming calm again.

"Why would you need to hide this from me?"

To this, Sherlock grabbed the bottle from his hand, threw open the window, and flung the bottle out of it. John stood, mouth gaping wide. Sherlock started to stalk towards his bedroom when John called out, "Wait, did you put your journal in the bathtub?" He nodded to the book. It too had the smell of perfume wafting from it.

The slamming of a door was his only answer.

_I guess Sherlock Holmes does sentiment after all. John thought in wonderment_.

TBC...


	18. Take Journal for a walk, Dirty surface

**_A/N: Hello everyone, I'm back with a new (short) chapter! As per usual, thank you to all the readers, reviewers and subscribers, you make this a lot of fun to continue!_**

**_OfTardisesandScarves: I highly recommend it, the journal is so much fun! Thank you!_**

**_NarutoRox: Thank you! I wanted to write a chapter about Sherlock's inner workings a bit._**

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><p>"John," Sherlock called from the kitchen, grimacing as he turned away from the microscope, "let's go for a walk. Need to clear my head."<p>

His flatmate lowered the newspapers in his hands and sighed, "So much for my quiet evening," he muttered under his breath. He stood and stretched, while Sherlock sauntered past him, and put his coat on. John noted that Sherlock had his journal in his arm, and a long burlap string dangling from it.

"What's with the string?" John asked, nodding towards the journal.

Sherlock didn't answer, of course, but opened the door and headed downstairs. John followed and soon joined Sherlock on the pavement of 221B. As he finished locking the door behind him and turned to see Sherlock bent on his haunches to set the book face down.

_Oh no. _John thought. He was sure that Sherlock was determined to get as much unwanted attention as possible.

"Sherlock, you're seriously not going to drag that around London, are you?" John sputtered, as he looked around at the pedestrians.

"It's for an experiment, John. I need to know how a suicide note got 4 kilometers down the road on a windless day."

"Of course you do," John groused, but followed Sherlock down the road.

They hadn't got more than a block, when people stared as the pair went past. Some were looks of bemusement, some of disbelief. John caught the looks and couldn't help but feel his cheeks redden and forced himself to look at the pavement to avoid the stares. At one point, John decided that he wanted to pretend that he was not walking with Sherlock, but was defeated when Sherlock called out, "Come on, John!" His cheeks burned even hotter as he walked faster, amid the people watching this insane scene take place.

Much to John's relief, Sherlock finally picked up the book.

"Happy with the results?" John inquired and glanced at his flatmate who looked slightly annoyed. "I take that as a 'no', then."

Sherlock groused, but continued walking, flipping through the pages, as John kept pace.

In a few moments, they passed through a nice neighborhood, in which was a park. The grass had just been freshly cut, the clippings having been blown into the street by the worker.

"For a case?" John asked trying not to laugh. Sherlock should have known that dry items would not stick or leave any impression on the paper.

"Nope," Sherlock replied as he stood up looking slightly disappointed, "That was for fun."

Sherlock bent again, and pushed the book's pages into a small pile of dried leaves and clippings. The man who had mowed just looked up at them, shook his head, and went back to work.

_Remind me never to walk with Sherlock when he has his journal again._

**_tbc..._**

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><p><em>I actually took a walk and tried to smear my pages with dried grass clippings in a neighbor's yard and got a strange look from the owner of the house! LOL.<br>_


	19. Picture out of Office Supplies, Crumble

A/N: I apologize for missing these last two weeks. Last week the AC went out and I was in no mood to write, and this week, my computer cord died on me. I managed to get this written before my battery died. Thanks to all who read and reviewed, and to the subscribers!

natalieashe: Yeah, I totally think Sherlock's Journal is well beyond what a normal person's journal would be at this point, LOL.

OfTardisesAngelsandScarves: Thank you! I know what you mean, you kind of have to acknowledge the mad stares for some of these pages!

NarutoRox: Glad I was able to provide a laugh with this chapter. Thanks!

Icecat62: Oh yes, I can imagine that he would do this journal just to prove that!

dayflow: Thank you!

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><p>It was another rainy evening in London, and most who did not have business choice to stay indoors for the duration of the rain. John was watching television while Sherlock seemed to be shifting through the drawers of their separate desks. At one point he was so loud that John could no longer hear the telly.<p>

"What are you doing?" John asked, keeping his voice neutral, but already was becoming annoyed.

"Nothing," Sherlock snapped, slamming a desk drawer shut.

"Well, obviously you are with all the noise you're making. Is it for your journal?" John asked, but didn't really need an answer to know that it was.

After three minutes, the rustling stopped, and his flat-mate finally seemed to settle back into his chair. Sighing with some relief, John once again turned his attention back to the television.

It was quiet for another 20 minutes until Sherlock shouted, "John, I got it! I figured out how the murderer was able to allude the police, and were he is hiding now!" Sherlock put the journal in front of his nose, thus blocking his view.

"Very nice, Sherlock. Now do me a favor and get that book out of my face, yeah?"

Sherlock groused, but withdrew it, strutting away back to the couch. John heard the beeping of Sherlock's telephone, then the conversation (or rather, Sherlock's triumphant speech) about how he found the murder's escape route and current location.

There was another ten minutes of silence, and John finally thought he could get back to watching any programme at this point.

Ten more minutes, and John was finally getting into "Celebrity Top Chef" when he heard the tearing of paper that was then crumpled into a ball.

"What ever keeps him quiet," John muttered under his breath.

The exciting moment where a celebrity was about to be sent home came. John was watching with relative interest when the paper ball that was formed earlier hit him in the head.

"Sherlock!" John groused, turning around. Sherlock was at his desk, looking as though he was writing. His flat mate looked up, "What?" was the irritable reply.

John muttered, "Irritating sod!" and went back to his programme. A few minutes later he heard the tearing of paper again and wondered what his flatmate was up to, when something blunt hit the back of his head. Out of the corner of his eye, John saw a paper airplane. He was about to toss it in the trash when he saw Sherlock's scrawling penmanship.

**SORRY JOHN.**

"Try not to say your sorry for throwing a paper ball at me by thowing an paper airplane at me, mate." John huffed, and stood, tossing it back onto Sherlock's desk, and went to bed.

_TBC..._


	20. Trace Contents of Pockets

A/N: Tada! Managed to get a new AC adapter, so I'm good to go with the writing. Thanks to everyone who reviewed and subscribed as always. I appreciate it!

Old Ping Hai: I wish! Thanks so much!

OfTardisesAngelsandScarves: Hee hee, he's like the Sheldon Cooper of Baker Street. Thanks!

Icecat62: Thanks

NarutoRox: I'm glad my little fanfic put you in a better mood. That's what I was hoping to do, bring a little humor to the readers' day!

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><p>It was a hot 35 degree day in London, the stifling weather kept John inside, as he preferred the cooler temperature. Sherlock had come home five minutes ago and was already bored, and had flopped onto the couch. His coat was clutched in his hand, and John could not help but wonder how on Earth the detective could wear in in hot weather. Sherlock plunged his hands into the pockets, throwing the journal and the contents of his pockets onto the coffee table. John looked on with some curiosity, then with a little horror as Sherlock opened a page of his journal and began to trace with a pencil, the contents of his pockets.<p>

Sherlock had some normal things, such as his keys, phone, magnifying glass, wallet, and even a bag of chips. _Who knew that Sherlock actually got hungry,_ John though with an internal grin. But his mouth fell open at the sight of a bag of human toes and it suddenly made his stomach churn. _Oh my god, did he carry that in his pockets the entire way home, in this heat?!_John was surprised that Sherlock would have caused some animals to follow him, let alone leave a stench that would no doubt turn heads.

"Please tell me that you are not going to set that bag of thumbs on your journal?" John finally asked, finding his voice at last.

Sherlock looked up, "What? Why not? The journal says that you need to trace what is in your pockets." He tapped on said page.

"Right, your journal is already a hazard, I'd rather not add a bio-hazard on top, thank you." John sniffed, and snatched up the bag of thumbs. "I'll just put these in your normal spot in the fridge, shall I?"

John hear his flat-mate grumble, but ignored it, and stored the bag with some disgust in the fridge. After washing his hands_ thoroughly _John proceeded to make some lunch.

He had just walked into the sitting room again, when he saw Sherlock tear out a page, crumble it again, and with a good bowler's pitch, toss it out the window.

"Sherlock! Littering is a criminal offense." John yelped, slamming down the tray, "You could be fined."

The detective just shrugged, "I was to lose the page accept the loss, John.

"Well, tell that to whoever tells the litter warden." John muttered.

A moment later, they heard the doorbell and Greg Lestrade stormed into the flat a few seconds after that.

"Alright," Lestrade said evenly, holding up the crumpled ball of paper, "Which one of you am I dragging to magistrates court?"

John could only grin towards Sherlock with an**_ I told you so_** sort of expression.

TBC...


	21. Four Letter Words and Fill with Circles

_**A/N: I'm sorry that I haven't written anything for the last two weeks, I've felt kind of lazy lately and have sort of run out of ideas on how to do the entries in Sherlock's style. If you have any suggestions, please let me know. Also thank you for all the subscribers and reviewers of the last chapter, I always appreciate it!**_

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><p>Sherlock lay on the couch in his dressing gown his right leg in a thick set of bandages, propped up with a pillow, while writing in his journal. Sherlock had been chasing after a suspect. The perpetrator, who had the aim of a blindfolded man in an amateur act managed to shoot Sherlock in the ankle while trying to escape. His flat mate had insisted that he go to hospital and John had spent the major part of the night removing the bullet and wrapping the wound.<p>

The detective sighed dramatically for the fifth time in an hour, and John rolled his eyes for the the same amount. "I said pass me a pen."

John turned and threw him one, that the detective caught with a raised arm. "You forgot to say please." he muttered annoyed.

John typed at his own computer, but the scratching of the pen on the page his friend was completing began to get on his nerves.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John asked without an ounce of patience.

"Bored. Mental excerise to keep my braining running." Sherlock replied in a flat tone.

"I hope you have a lot of pages left, you'll be off that leg for a while, at least two weeks."

His flatmate growled at this, and then returned his attention to the journal.

John chuckled quietly and returned to his laptop, where he was typing up their latest adventure.

About an hour later, John went and got dinner from Angelo's (who, having heard of how Sherlock received his wound, offered Sherlock dinner for free.)

When John walked back into the flat, Sherlock was still laying on the couch, pen in mouth as a sign of concentration.

"Sherlock? You need to eat and then take your meds."

There was a non committal "hmmm" from Sherlock in reply.

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><p>After dinner (and the subsequent argument for Sherlock to take his medication), Sherlock finally settled down, and John was finally able to finish his blog entry. When he shut his laptop, he heard the the soft breathing of Sherlock that told him that his flatmate had fallen asleep. Stretching, John fetched the blanket from Sherlock's room and draped it over his slumbering friend. When he drew closer to the detective and confirmed that he was asleep. He learned his lesson the first time, and made sure that he was sleeping before perusing the detective's journal. John flipped through the pages and was able to find the ones that Sherlock had done that night.<p>

The first page was one that said:** This page is for Four Letter words.**

John was surprised to see his name in the biggest letters that spread on both pages. Other words included: _cell, jury, fine, mugs, robs, case (in big letters) _and _jail, _alongside some rather nasty curse words and underworld terms. John chuckled darkly at Sherlock's obvious choice of four letter words and turned to the next entry.

**Fill this Page with Circles.**

Again, not to his own surprise, John found that Sherlock had chosen to fill the page with chemical compounds, some of which he reconized from his studies as a doctor and some that he learned up from the detective. Others, that had question marks in the compound made him very curious. Until that is, he read "Try compound" and suddenly felt a little leery. John didn't know if Sherlock was jesting or not, but decided he would have to be careful about what he ate and drank the next few weeks.

TBC...


	22. Scratch this Page and Sew this Page

**poooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ;7-**_ is a message from my cat who want to say "hello" to all my readers. Thanks to everyone for the reviews, and for the subscribes. I appreciate it!_

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><p>The sound of a "whoosh" followed by a "clang" filled John with apprehension while he climbed the seventeen steps up to the flat.<p>

He had just opened the door when a kitchen knife sang by him and lodged itself in Sherlock's journal, that was also hung on the wall adjacent to the front entry. Sherlock was laying on the couch, leg still elevated and bandaged, but the detective was still able to throw from that distance. John wouldn't admit it, but he was impressed.

"Jesus, Sherlock, can you not greet me with by trying to skewer me when I get home?" He said, trying to sound annoyed.

"Could you bring the knives and journal back to me?""

John pulled both from the book, and slammed them onto the coffee table.

"Sorry John, never know when knife throwing skills may come in handy."

"Yeah, like if you joined a circus or got on "Britain's Got Talent," John muttered, taking off his coat. His eyes swung to the open page that read

"**Scratch this page with a sharp object". **

"Sherlock," John pointed to the page, "you realize that you're doing this wrong, don't you?"

His flatmate shrugged, but gave him an annoyed look, and John did not criticize his friend any further. Sherlock sat on the couch with the kitchen knife still in his right hand and proceeded to slash through the paper.

John decided to change the subject.

"Anything in for dinner, I'm starving?"

"Mrs. Hudson made Chicken Cacciatore," Sherlock replied with boredom, waving his hand (which still had the knife in it) languidly towards the kitchen.

* * *

><p>Another rolled by, and John went to his desk to write up his blog. Sherlock leafed through his journal, grunting with annoyance and the more "boring" ones until it seemed that he had found one to his liking. Sherlock stood and limped towards his bedroom.<p>

"What are you doing?" John called, knowing full well that the detective may or may not answer him.

"Getting something from my room, John. I'll be right back."

John heard the general rustling of drawers being opened and closed, and Sherlock re-appeared with a small leather case in his hand. He watched with some curiosity, but tried not to stare and annoy the consulting detective. Much to John's surprise, it was a case with a sewing needle and some catgut. Instantly, John's stomach plummeted and wondered how many times Sherlock would have used these on his injuries before he entered the man's life.

Luckily, Sherlock was not using the thread on himself (John had already checked the stitches and re-bandaged the wound), but rather, on the page. Not to his own surprise, his flatmate easily thread the needle and tied the end of it before guiding it delicately through the paper. This went on for a while. There was the sound of thread going through material, of scissors being used and some grunts of frustration from Sherlock when the delicate paper was torn.

John, being slightly curious, stood up and casually mentioned getting some tea and asking if he wanted any. When he passed Sherlock, John looked down and found that Sherlock had sewn not only a surgeon's knot, but also the running locked sutures, subcuticular sutures, and both vertical and a horizontal mattress stitch.

_Wonders never cease. I wonder if he learned these purely for reference of if he's used them before _John thought, feeling slightly unease at how often his friend had been wounded in the past.

"Never hurts to know these things in my work, John." Sherlock re-assured him. John nodded, knowing that Sherlock could take care of himself when he was not around (thought it was probably not advisable), he felt slightly better and went to fetch the tea.

TBC...


	23. Write Left Handed, Write When Angry

Greetings everyone! I have returned with another installment of WTJ-Sherlock Style! As always, THANK YOU to my subscribers, readers and reviewers. Since this is International Left-Handers Day, I added a fun entry.

Scholar of Imagination: Thank you! I do highly recommend it!

NarutoRox: I'm glad you enjoyed that last chapter!

OfTardisesAngelsandScarves and Icecat62: Yep, I peg Sherlock as a Jack of All Trades kind of fellow.

* * *

><p>No one had ever heard the wind blow like this before in London. John Watson struggled through the bluster streets to the flat, glad to be out of the wind and cold, annoyed that Sherlock had asked (rather rudely) for him to go get some milk. His flatmate had gone without a case for several days, leading the detective to be more unbearable than usual. Shivering, the doctor was glad to be in the warm house as he plowed upstairs to the apartment. Sherlock was at his work table again, and by his lack of greeting or demand for food, seemed to be sulking.<p>

_Guess he didn't get the case from Scotland Yard either, _John thought ruefully as he took off his outer garments. That meant that his flat-mate's attitude would not improve. Sherlock seemed to be looking at something in his microscope, but was obviously doing something else in his journal. John stepped closer and read

**Fill out this page when you are angry. **

Underneath it he wrote "BORED" in big letters of course, but then added other complaints_: Unimaginative criminal class, boring criminal class, illogical police force, police officers with very little brains. _In even bigger letters were the words "_STUPID MYCROFT**". **_

John felt his lips turn up slightly in a smile but pointed at the phrase, "Is that a nice thing to say?"

Sherlock glared at him and then scribbled something onto the page that read _Nosy John _and John put his hands up defensively, "Jeez, sorry!" he grumbled and pushed by his friend in annoyance to grab his laptop and slammed the milk down onto the workspace. John plotted up the stairs to his own room and slammed the door. Leave it to Sherlock to get him into a bad mood.

Hours later, towards Midnight, John crept down the stairs and found all the lights off in the sitting room. His stomach had growled with hunger, and he found that he could no longer ignore the hunger pangs. When he reached the bottom step, he found that Sherlock had indeed gone to bed, and carefully made his way into the kitchen.

While passing the work table, John found the journal laying open to a page that said

**Write With Your Left Hand**

In big letters and in penmanship that looked even worse than Sherlock's regular writing it read "Sorry John." On the other side it said "_This challenge is rather pointless and unimaginative. I am clearly right handed but only ambidextrous when it comes to arms."_

John chuckled; leave it to Sherlock to complain about the validity of a journal prompt. He closed the book and was about to step away, when he looked at the edges and found in bold letters made with a black sharpie: **Hazardous Materials: Keep out**

"He's got that right," John muttered to himself, then went to the kitchen for a glass of milk and a snack, hoping not to find any body parts stored within the fridge in the process.


	24. Have a Friend Do Something Destructive

_A/N: Thanks again to everyone who subscribes and reviews! Eight of them in one chapter just blows my mind! =)_

_theLord'ssparrow: That's right! *hand out an cookie*  
><em>

_Ladycrafter: Wow, you lead quite an adventurous life! I don't think even Sherlock's WTJ could compete with yours! _

_MelodyOfSong526: Thank you so much! I hoped to capture Sherlock's character (if not ooc) when he was filling out this journal. _

_Scholar of Imagination: It certainly suits, doesn't it?_

_Icecat62: Yeah, wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of his anger, LOL._

_NarutoRox: Tee hee!_

_dayflow: I think that John's the only one who would put up with it as his friend. LOL_

* * *

><p><em>John<em> stepped into 221 with some trepidation, and tentatively made his way up the stairs. He cautiously hoped that Sherlock would be in a better mood now that his leg was completely healed from the injury that he had sustained a fortnight ago.

He carefully turned the knob and entered the flat, calling out, "Sherlock?"  
>The sitting room and kitchen were empty of the detective. He then stepped into the hallway and knocked at Sherlock's bedroom door, and opened it to find the room empty.<p>

John briefly thought that his flat mate was indeed out of the house and was tempted to blast some loud music or something of the like. As much as Sherlock was his best friend, there were times that the consulting detective could be completely aggravating at times.

He went back towards the living room and wondered what he should do first (nixing the idea of loud music as to not annoy Mrs. Hudson). John went into the kitchen again to get himself a nice cup of tea and relax with the telly. Something on Sherlock's worktable caused John to back up a few steps. On the table, actually laying open, was Sherlock's "Wreck This Journal".

The page read:

**Have a friend do Something Destructive to this page, and don't look!**

So that's why Sherlock wasn't here? It's not like he would care one way or another. John would have to think about how to creatively destroy the page. Then somewhere in the back of his mind, John remembered one of his high school chemistry classes where his teacher used a solution to burn paper.

"What was it? What was it?" he muttered under his breath. Something about iron...

John went to his computer and decided to look it up, rather than guess and risk blowing the flat sky high. After a few minutes of searching, he got his answer:

Tannin and Iron Sulfate solution.

He searched through the various bottle and vials that were cluttered on the worktable until he found the two ingredients he was looking for (and luckily that Sherlock had on hand). John carefully poured the ingredients in a beaker, then poured it over the paper in places he wanted to burn. He scrounged for a lighter (luckily they were well hidden along with the cigarettes) and after lighting one, drew it close to the journal. He hesitated, and quickly went for the fire extinguisher, just in case. Feeling a little more assured, he put a flame to the page, allowing it to light.

The page ignited quickly burned, and to his surprise, disintegrated the paper. It petered out when it reached the end of the solution soaked edges, turning the edges dark blue. When he was sure that it had gone out completely, John scribbled on a bit a paper:

_Care to deduce, Sherlock?_

Smiling, he went into the kitchen, and decided to invite Mrs . Hudson up for some tea, and some much needed peace and quiet from Sherlock.

**TBC...**

*a/n: I really don't know how this chemical compound burns paper, save that it DOES burn it. I tried to look it up but didn't find anything. Also DO NOT TRY AT HOME! 'Nuff said.


	25. Cover Page in Fruit Stickers

_A/N: As always, thank you to everyone who subscribed and left reviews! I've had to make a list of journal entries and strike out the ones I've done to keep organized. _

_Guest: You're right on both accounts, though I think it might take a few minutes for Sherlock to deduce what Sherlock used. _

_OfTardisesAngelScarves: Heh, maybe he is hanging around Sherlock enough to pick up some chemistry. Thank you, I wanted to think of a creative way to do this entry. _

_Sparticus328: Thank you for that information! I guess I should have researched it a bit more, huh? (I was a bit afraid to TBH). That was very helpful and I have adjusted the last chapter to include that information. _

_MelodyofSong526: Thank you! Yeah I think Sherlock would be happy that John is using his chemistry and deducing skills._

* * *

><p>Sherlock and John returned to their flat after a successful (albeit too simple and too short for Sherlock's taste) case. John had some trepidation as he climbed up the stairs, and wondered what he would find on the other side of the door. His stomach tumbling slightly, he turned the doorknob and stepped into the apartment.<p>

His mouth dropped as he looked around. The usually blissfully empty spaces were filled with fruit. There were apples, oranges, bananas and all other matter of fruits that littered the tables and desks of the flat.

"Ah, it looks like Mrs. Hudson came back with our groceries." Sherlock said nonchalantly, brushing past him.

"_This_ is the shopping?" John asked incredulously, looking at a new bowl of apples on the coffee table. "Seriously, you had Mrs. Hudson carry all of this home?"

Sherlock went to sit on the couch and opened the journal, flipping to a certain page, then turned it over and snagged an apple from the bowl, and peeled off the sticker.

"I paid for her taxi home." Sherlock replied as he stuck the sticker onto the page.

"Wait, did you just buy up all the fruit in London to fill out a journal page?!"

"You said we needed to eat healthier, John," Sherlock answered back, taking a bite from the red flesh of the apple.

"I didn't mean-just what the hell are we going to do with all this fruit?!"

Sherlock looked up with an look of annoyance, "I should have thought that obvious, John. We _eat_ them."

"Yeah, half of this will be rotten by the time we get it all eaten." John groused, and wondered if his flatmate had truly lost his mind.

"Mmm...give some to Mrs. Hudson and the neighbors." Sherlock responded lazily.

"I think it will take more than some produce to appease our neighbors after all the stunts you've been pulling with that journal." He gathered some oranges, apples, bananas and pomegranates, making sure to peel off the stickers and hand them to Sherlock.

John did this for about an hour, taking fruit to his neighbors and making up a story that he had extra and had no use for it, but not mentioning who he lived with unless asked, and then apologized vehemently for whatever inconvenience his flatmate may have caused them.

"Mr. Holmes is a menace to society!" Mrs. Patterson shouted at John when he appeared at his doorstep, "he ought to be locked up and have the key thrown away!" and proceeded to slam the door on him.

"Believe me, sometimes I think so too." John whispered to the empty hallway in frustration.

When the deliveries were done, John returned to the flat and was pleased to find the fruit at a manageable (and edible) amount.

"Well you'll be happy to know that four of our neighbors will kick you out if you make so much noise again," John explained, pointing to the journal in Sherlock's hand.

"Mmm" Sherlock muttered, not caring at all when he flipped to another page.

His stomach growled, and he went into the kitchen, not wanting to see another fruit for a while.

"I do hope Mrs. Hudson bought more than produce at the store." Yelled John as he opened the fridge.

TBC...


	26. Author's Note

Author's Note: Hello everyone! I know I haven't been updating the last week or two, I have felt a little burnt out by this series. I've really had a hard time thinking about how to write chapters, but will try to have a new one up this coming Wednesday, and will not by any means, abandon it.

Till then all!


	27. Borrowed Pens, Scribble

_A/N: Hurray, finally back. I got some bad news from home and so didn't feel like writing, and as I mentioned before, felt slightly burned out by trying to write out entries twice a week. Thanks to everyone for subscribing and for sticking with me!_

_NarutoRox: Heh, Sherlock is a little nutty, isn't he?_

_sagecat12: I have a hard time writing long entries for this story to be honest because the prompts are a struggle to write and adding details just delays me further. But I will keep that in mind and try to work on longer entries. Thanks for the feedback. _

_MelodyofSong: Oh well, Sherlock paid for the fruit anyway, and the cabfare. Yeah he's difficult to live next to as is, this journal just makes it worse. I wonder how many have moved out by now. LOL_

_Old Ping Hai: Aw...thank you!_

_Juse: Yep, he'd get his money back in no time if Mrs. Hudson baked them, heh._

* * *

><p>The phone of Sherlock Holmes went off while they were at their work spaces, making them look up. The detective picked up his cell phone, "Sherlock Holmes." John looked up from his computer to see his friend's face remained impassive as always. John noted that Sherlock's journal was open and the detective seemed to be drawing with boredom in it.<p>

John had to squint, but was able to read the page's instructions: **Doodle like you're on the phone.** He couldn't help but chuckle that this was one of the few entries that he had done _normally_. What he had drawn however, was not by any means normal. Skulls, knifes, and other various images that made him roll his eyes.

When Sherlock had hung up, he stood and took his coat from the back of the chair, a glint of excitement in his expression, "Come on, John. Lestrade has a case for us. We're going to meet him in Aberdeen," the detective explained as he snapped his journal shut and shoved in in an inner pocket of his coat.

"What? In Scotland?" John groused, looking at the clock. It's a quarter past 5:00 at night!"

Sherlock just shrugged, "Then we'd better hurry. "

* * *

><p>The next eight hours on the train were the most excruciating that John had ever experienced thanks to Sherlock. The first hour had passed relatively easily, as Sherlock explained the case to him. Mangled fingers have been turning up all over the town in Scotland and the inhabitants were scared. Three murders in three days, all committed with a blade, and still nobody has a clue who the ruthless killer was.<p>

"Then why didn't Scotland Yard call you out sooner?" John asked.

"Dimmock is on the case. It took him three days and Lestrade had to intervene for him to actually call us in." Sherlock remarked, and seemed to be scribbling something in his lap.

_No doubt his journal _John thought_. "_So this guy is like a Jack the Ripper sort of criminal?_" _

_"_It looks that way, John. However, it's a mistake to deduce before one has data._" _ Sherlock stated, then his gaze went elsewhere and the conversation ended.

Later, Sherlock got up and walked around the leisure cabin, bending over people's tables and asking to borrow a pen. He deduced the lives of whosoever's pen it was, and then was cursed at for his effort if it turned out to be embarrassing to him or her.

John plunked his head into his folded arms and tried to pretend that he was not traveling with the detective.

* * *

><p>It hadn't taken Sherlock very long for Sherlock to deduce who the perpetrator was by the crime scene when they arrived.<p>

"Male, right handed by the angle of the cut of the thumb, about 172 cm tall, walks with a limp."

"Yeah, we got all that." Dimmock interrupted impatiently, "anything else?"

"He was a doctor, you can tell by the precision of the cut. Do you know anything about the victims of the case?"

"Only that they were all patients of Ugie, Royal Cornhill and Aberdeen Royal hospital." inserted Dimmock, who had taken out his notebook. "Still don't have a motive as to _why_."

"That part is obvious." Sherlock said, picking up the corpse's right arm, "They were participating in drug trials. There are trace-marks where blood has been taken. You can also tell by the discoloration of the skin and the largeness of the veins. I deduce that they were involved in unethical trials and when it was discovered, the killer decided to silence them. The thumb was a sadistic move by the doctor. Now go find your perp." Sherlock concluded, looking pleased as always, "but before you go, do you have a pen I could borrow?"

* * *

><p>TBC...<p> 


	28. Page of good thoughts

_A/N: Thanks for sticking with me, everyone! The news has been up and down here, hence why I didn't update last week. I just couldn't get myself to write until now. _

_Thanks to everyone who has given reviews and have subscribed._

_Old Ping Hai: Thank you! I haven't done this prompt yet, I'm to shy to ask for a pen. _

_Melody and Ace: Thank you!_

_Icecat62: Reminds me of Sheldon Cooper a bit. LOL_

_NarutoRox: Too easy for him, eh heh. _

* * *

><p>The day after the Modern Jack The Ripper case, Sherlock Holmes was bored. To get away from Sherlock's complaining, Mary phoned him pretending that there was a crisis at his surgery and excused himself.<p>

When the sun began to set over the city, John begrudgingly returned to Baker Street to see what damage his flatmate had done on the apartment. Taking a deep breath, John opened the door and braced himself for any sort of disaster that Sherlock could have cooked up left alone. What he observed was a shock in of itself.

The flat was clean, or rather, was a clean as he had left it hours ago. Sherlock's experiments were still cluttering the kitchen table, the bookshelves still had an inch of dust on them, but there was little sign of anything else happening in the flat since he was away. The detective himself was laying languidly on the couch reading a book.

"So," John said, as he took off his coat, "are you done having a temper tantrum and returned to being an adult?"

Sherlock just shot him an annoyed glance and returned his attention to the book.

"Did you make Mrs. Hudson prepare your dinner or are you not eating again?" John asked, again receiving only silence.

"I happen to know that you went out with Mary today, rather than to the surgery." Sherlock said with a lazy swish of his hand.

John looked gobsmacked, "How? You know what, never mind." His eyebrows drew together in anger, "So what if I lied? I wanted to get away for a while. Plus, I needed to have a date with my fiancee."

"I knew you were lying from the beginning," Sherlock stated matter of factly, "why would you go to work when that would produce more stress?"

John opened his mouth to reply, but deigned to start another argument. "Frankly, I am pissed that you were spying on me, but it's expected from you." And with that sharp remonstration, he pounded up the steps.

Hours later, John reflected that he was wrong to yell at Sherlock for spying on him. Sure, it was wrong, but had not done anything less than annoy him. He opened the door and was about to traverse the stairs when he heard a loud thump as he pulled the door open.

The journal was tied to the doorknob with the string that the detective had tied to the doorknob. He noted that there was a page that was marked. John untied it and then carried it into his room and set it on his bed.

The page read: **Page of Good Thoughts**.

In large bold letters were the words: _JOHN WATSON IS MY FRIEND. _And in smaller letters, there were words like:_ "Mary Morstan is my friend. Lestrade is my friend. Mrs. Hudson is my friend. _

John could not help but let his anger slip away. With a sentence that was so earnest from Sherlock, how he could stay angry?

TBC...


	29. draw lines while in motion, on the train

John could not for the life of him, figure out what was going on with Sherlock. When he and Mary had visited, Sherlock had been anything but rude, in fact, he had be downright polite. As soon as John knocked, Sherlock opened the door, politely greeted them and offered them tea.

_I wonder if his mother had word with him about his manners, not that Sherlock would listen to it anyway _John pondered_. _He remembered meeting Sherlock's parent's over a month earlier, albeit briefly. To even think that his mom and dad were so...normal compared to their children was something even John was not prepared for in all honesty.

"Okay, Sherlock, what is it that you want?" John finally blurted out, and caused Mary's cup to crash back to it's saucer.

"John!" Mary yelped, and shot a disapproving look to her husband-to-be.

"You're only polite when you want something from me." John continued, as though he had not been interrupted. "Unless you've spiked my tea, _again_." His eyes narrowed at the detective, and he could have sworn that he saw Mary smiling behind the teacup she had pressed to her lips.

Sherlock sighed, and placed his teacup on the coffee table. "I wished to ask you Mary, if I can borrow John for a case."

Now it was Mary's turn to blink. "Of course you may! You needn't have to request an approval from me. I think John partnering with you is a great help to your cases, isn't it?"

"Hang on!" John interjected, "Don't I get a say whether or not I'll help you for a case?" For a moment, John could have seen the disappointment in his friend's eyes.

It passed from the detective's face after a moment, before Sherlock replied haughtily, "As I remember my brother telling you, you crave action, sedentary life doesn't suit you."

"Yes, but I have a fiancee and a home and a practice now." John countered sharply, but the impassive look on John's face didn't change.

"Oh for heaven's sake John, go on the case with Sherlock!" Mary finally snapped, "You've been itching to go on one for a while, I can tell. You've been all moody and tense for a few weeks."

One of Sherlock's elegant eyebrows rose with sarcastic intention, "Content lifestyle, John?"

"Alright, I'll leave you boys to it then, I have some shopping to do. Try not to get into to much trouble." Mary announced as she stood and kissed John on the cheek before sweeping out of the flat.

The door shut, and John finally leaned in his seat, "What is this about?"

Sherlock placed his hands together and set them under his chin, "A case. One of my homeless network is missing."

"Could be drugs," John mused, "Or...murder, or prison."

"I've checked with Scotland Yard," Sherlock replied, "No reports of a new prisoner or any corpse in the morgue."

"So again, drugs." John concluded.

"He's been off the drugs for a month last time I heard from him." Sherlock commented. "He was last seen on King Henry's Road. My homeless network last had contact with him 2 days ago at a convenience store."

So should we start there?" John asked.

"Of course," Sherlock said, taking up his coat and scarf.

* * *

><p>They boarded the Underground for several stops. While sitting on the train, John glanced over to see Sherlock pull out his journal and a pen from one of his large coat pockets and mark out "221b Baker Street" in a route that seemed to be following his missing man's path, under the page which read and drew a rather jagged line due to the swaying of the carriage:<p>

_draw lines while in motion, on the bus, on a train, while walking, etc._

_"_Before you ask John, no I am not trying to drag you all over London for the sake of this journal entry. I am tracking his movements from Baker Street to King Henry's road._"_

"Sure you are," John muttered under his breath.

When the train stopped, the two of the them had walked for about twenty minutes until they reached the convenience store, all the while Sherlock was drawing in the journal.

John pretended to saunter over to the magazine rack while Sherlock spoke to the workers of the shop, giving a general description of the man in question.

"Yea, we saw a guy like that 'ere. Bought a lotto ticket. Came back three days later and told me 'e won 15 million quid! Bugger mus 'have been poor as a pauper! 'E bought a ticket on a whim an' look what it got 'im!" The shop keeper said with an air of disdain at the luck."

The magazine in John's hands dropped. He looked over to Sherlock, who's mouth was gaping slightly.

TBC...

* * *

><p>AN: Yeah I know that this was along time coming, and I apologize for that; my life has been a roller coaster lately and has just now calmed down. I also hope you'll forgive me that this page wasn't as descriptive or interactive as the last few. November I will be starting Nanowrimo, but I still hope to write these at least once a week for a writing exercise. I have anywhere from 12 (if I do 2 entries per chapter) to 26 (if I do one per chapter) prompts left, so please let me know if you want me to do one or the other, or mix it up. Thanks again to all the subscribers and reviewers. I am sort of following the timeline of season 3 of Sherlock so I have started adding Mary and other characters (maybe). Chapter 28 was going to be my last chapter entry, but ended up there somehow. Oh well. See you next time!


	30. Drip tea, coffee, paint: make a print

**A/N: Hello everyone! I finally finished this chapter, yay! I made it a nice long one to make up for the frankly terrible last few entries that I will go back and re-write. Thank you for sticking with me, and thanks to the reviewers and subscribers. This Novemember marks the beginning of Nanowrimo, so I will post at least once a week. Also, I am following the timeline of season three. Right now we are in 2012-13, before John and Mary were wed.  
><strong>

**Happy reading!**

* * *

><p>The harsh sound of coughing filled the sitting room of 221B Baker Street.<p>

John entered the living room with two cups of tea, one which he placed on the coffee table in front of Sherlock Holmes, who laid wrapped in a dressing gown on the much abused couch, looking absolutely miserable. The detective was pale and was drenched with sweat with a feverish glint to his eyes and cheeks.

_Who knew, Sherlock Holmes actually does get sick_, John thought wryly as he looked over his patient. Sherlock had pulled the afghan over his head, all the while groaning and complaining that he was going to die.

"You're not going to die, you're just being a drama queen." John hissed and after pulling back the covers, shoved a digital thermometer in his former flat mate's mouth.

"How do I know I don't have a deadly form of the common cold or anything of that variety?" Sherlock groused between the thermometer shooting John a sour glance that was wasted on the doctor.

"Because you're a graduate chemist and know there's no such thing, as do I since I'm a doctor. You don't have a cold, you have the flu, by the way. Now be quiet and let me get your temp." John declared. There were a few moments of pause in the conversation, then the thermometer beeped and he took it from the detective to read it. "38 degrees, slight fever. Looks like you won't be going anywhere today."

Sherlock harrumphed, and plopped back on his other side so that his back was towards John, and pulled the covers back up to his shoulders.

John rolled his eyes, "You do realize you're acting like a stubborn five year old, right?"

"Whatever." Sherlock just grumbled, not bothering to turn over.

"Mrs. Hudson is making some homemade soup for you, so be nice and actually eat it." John ordered.

"I don't need her mollycoddling, John." Sherlock grunted, sitting back up on the couch.

"I could have her call your mum instead, I'm sure she'd love to take care of her son." John replied with a straight face. Even though he had met Sherlock's parents in passing only, he knew that Mrs. Hudson had been in contact with Mrs. Holmes. The landlady often spoke about her conversations with the detective's mum like they had known each other for years. The Holmes' were fairly ordinary compared to their two genius offspring, bizarrely so, but a mother was a mother.

"God no. She'd never stop haranguing me about the flat, about my work, about smoking, all of it", Sherlock said.

"Good, then sit there and eat the soup when Mrs. Hudson gets here and go to sleep when you're done." John commanded, putting on his coat and grabbing his keys from the table. "I'm going to go get some stuff from the chemist." He paused, "Work on your journal if you don't want to sleep, okay? Just don't get off that couch."

When John pounded up the stairs, his nose instantly caught a whiff of chemicals, putrid and pungent from the landing of the first floor.

"So much for staying in bed," John growled between his teeth, then finished his ascent to the second floor. When he threw the door open, John found Sherlock leaning over a deep metal tray (apparently one of Mrs. Hudson's basting pans) with a set of tweezers in his hand.

Sherlock looked up, not at all abashed at being caught out of bed with the flu. "Oh, hello John." Sherlock greeted him as if it were the first time that day. It was the cough that followed that gave him away.

"Alright, I give up, what are you doing?" John asked with a tone that was calm, but reprimanding.

"I found something to do in my journal." Sherlock replied with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.

"And of course you couldn't do ones that require staying in one place, right?" He muttered and went over to Sherlock's side to find the pan filled with a greenish purple liquid that looked like marble. In Sherlock's other hand was a ink brush. John was a little surprised that his flat mate would be so...artistic when it came to the journal. The detective never ceased to surprise him. Sherlock had splattered the paints onto a page that read:

**Drip something on this page (ink, paint, tea,etc) close the book to make a print **

The second John finished reading it, Sherlock snapped it shut in his hands. The two of them were still for a moment before Sherlock re-opened the journal to that page. What appeared on the page was a marbleized inkblot image that had some resemblance to a bat in his mind. The swirls of blue appeared among the green of the ink.

"Very nice Sherlock," John said finally, still admiring the interesting ink blot, "Now I think it's time you went back to bed."

"John I-"

"I'll clean up this mess and try to get rid of Mrs. Hudson's pan before she sees it. You get back to the couch and take your journal." He flipped through it a moment until he found an entry.

**Write carelessly now  
><strong>

"Here, this should keep you occupied for a few minutes." John said, and taking the pan, zipped downstairs to the bins.

On the way back, John asked Mrs. Hudson had stopped him in the hall to tell him that she'd talked with Sherlock's mum about her son being ill and stubborn about carrying out experiments even when he was sick with the influenza.

When John returned to the flat, he found Sherlock on the phone, (or rather rolled his eyes while keeping the phone aloft) while a feminine voice shouted from the other line.

_TBC..._

_The process that Sherlock used was called "Paper marbling". You can find information about it here: _

_ en. wikipedia wiki / Paper_marbling _


	31. Dinner and Secret Message

_A/N: I'm sorry I've been out of the loop with writing. I've just kind of gotten lazy and have had a difficult time comin up with ways to write the journals in a different manner. Thank you for sticking with me. __And thank you for all the kind comments and faves as well as subscribes._

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><p>Inviting Sherlock Holmes over for dinner was a <em>bad<em> idea, period. For one thing, Sherlock's discussions at the table were anything but savory or appropriate. His table manners were fine (thank God that his mother had at least taught him that!), but often his flat mate would be distracted or not bother to listen when someone else was speaking.

Nevertheless, Mary had invited Sherlock over for dinner at their house the following evening, much to John's incredulity. John decided to go over to Baker Street the evening before to ensure the detective's cooperation. John saw Mrs. Hudson leaning over her sink doing the dishes from her open door, and decided not to bother her, and rather plowed up the steps to the flat.

John knocked and heard a muffled yell, "Om Ibn."

He threw open the door to find Sherlock with a pen in his mouth and was scribbling in his diary.

John opened his mouth to ask, but Sherlock took the pen out of his mouth and looked over. "I was trying to decipher the handwriting of a quadriplegic who wrote a threatening note to his wife."

"Uh huh." John said absentmindedly, looking over to the journal. "Listen, Mary has invited you to dinner tomorrow night and-"

"You'd like me not to be myself." Sherlock said, looking up at his friend.

John cleared his throat, "I wasn't going to put it quite like that, but yeah. "

Sherlock just shrugged and waved a lazy hand. "Fine whatever."

"No complaints about the criminal class," John added

"Fine," Sherlock groused.

"And for God's sake, don't go into detail about any gruesome murders. Mary is my fiancee, please don't embarrass me. And"He pointed to the book, " leave that damned journal at home!"

* * *

><p>John straightened his tie for the fifth time in ten minutes. He felt an overwhelming sense of trepidation about Sherlock joining them for dinner, and was not looking forward to the proceedings.<p>

It took him less than three strides to answer the door when he heard a knock. Opening it, he found Sherlock with a bottle of wine in one hand, and a bouquet of lovely yellow roses in the other. He was dressed in his usual long sleeved shirt, well tailored dress coat and pants. John could only gape a little.

"Hello, John." Sherlock said first to break the awkward silence. "I believe I am on time for dinner? I've brought the customary bottle of wine. "

"Umm thanks." John muttered, and took the proffered bottle, then read the label "San Pierro 2000."

"One of Mycroft's best." Sherlock commented. "I may have procured it."

"Wait-did you take this from Mycroft's-?"

But before John got an answer, Mary entered the sitting room, and kissed Sherlock on the cheek as a greeting.

"Hello Sherlock, I'm glad you could join us." She said pleasantly.

"Good evening, Mary. Thank you for your invitation." He replied and handed her the roses, "these are for you."

Mary's blue eyes widened in both surprise and delight, "Thank you Sherlock, I'll go put them in some water."

When the two men were alone, John spun on heel to face his flatmate. "Okay, who are you and what have you done to Sherlock Holmes?"

"Do you know how cliched that expression is?" Sherlock commented with a roll of his eyes, "You told me to be on my best behavior, and I am. Problem?"

John had opened his mouth to reply, but the cry from the kitchen of "Dinner's ready!" from Mary halted their discussion. Hesitantly, John joined Mary and Sherlock in the dining room.

* * *

><p>Dinner went over well, much to John utter amazement. The conversation went into various and for the most part tame topics of interest. John could not help but wonder if this was an imposter version of Sherlock sitting at his table, and would not put it past the detective. But given his speech and mannerisms, John could conclude that it was indeed Sherlock, behaving himself and actually acting like a gentleman. There were even times when Mary had laughed, and John was at a loss at this altogether new side of his best friend. Who knew Sherlock had a sense of humor?<p>

When the evening was done, Mary again kissed Sherlock on the cheek as a goodbye after he had thanked them both for the meal.

As he and Mary started to clear the table, she remarked, "That went well, didn't it John?"

"Yeah," he murmured, "didn't think he had any manners in him." John lifted the plate from what was Sherlock's seat and found a note stashed underneath it.

"What's that?" Mary inquired, coming over to his side. John unfolded it, and together they read

**Write a Secret message Somewhere in this Journal.**

They spent the next four hours trying to decipher different codes to read it, until Mary slapped her forehead. "Oh I'm an idiot. Why didn't I see that before?"

"What?"

"It's a skip code," she said, pointing to the letters, "See? This one is John-"

Finally half an hour later, they were able to read the note.

_John, you have found a formidable and intelligent companion in Mary. Thank you in advance for the meal. If Mycroft asks, I don't know where that bottle of wine went._ S.H.

The couple looked at one another, then burst into laughter.

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><p>TBC...<p> 


	32. Rip, Tear page & Inner Monolouge

_a/n: Sorry I've not written this past week or two readers. Thank you for being patient, and thanks to the subscribers and reviewers. I can't believe I have 107 reviews, that's awesome! _

_Thanks to BlackNight, IceCat62 and MelodyofSong for their reviews. _

_Enjoy!_

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><p><em>He didn't want to go out on<em> such a night but Sherlock insisted that he, John and Mary attend a symphony. This was not unusual as Sherlock liked to attend musical performances (John often called him a music geek that earned a scowl). It had surprised John when Sherlock had invited him to a musical performance. Though he found it dull (after all the terrible school concerts he played clarinet as a child), John was intrigued to find that Sherlock was really enraptured by the music.

John straightened his tie in the bathroom mirror as Mary stepped next to him and began to put on her earrings.

"So," She began, "A Symphony, hmm? How old school."

"Don't knock it, or you might hear a lecture from Sherlock about the benefits of classical music to the thinking mind." John remarked.

"Let me guess," Mary laughed as she dusted her cheeks with blush, "you did?"

"Uh huh. I just hope he behaves himself tonight."

"Oh, you don't think he will?" Mary asked sarcastically.

John rolled his eyes, 'Not since I got him that damn journal."

* * *

><p>They met at the Royal Festival Hall at eight, and found their seats and Mary shot Sherlock a magnanimous smile as the show began in earnest. The music swelled, as German pieces of music played. As John had mentioned, Sherlock seemed to be listening intently, eyes distant as though he were caught up within it.<p>

About twenty minutes into the musical performance, the happy couple were taken out of the sudden change into romantic tones by a huge _rriip_ that echoed through the silent audience. John looked over in horror to find Sherlock with his phone in one hand (which he was using as a light) and the journal in his lap, while he seemed to tear at the paper.

John's mouth gaped, "Sherlock!" He whispered, but still loud enough to be shushed by the people behind them. He grumbled "sorry," and then set his focus back on his flatmate, "Sherlock, seriously?! Your disrupted the concert!"

Sherlock just shrugged and continued to hum, all the while ripping out another section of the page.

John leaned over in his seat and by the dim glow of the cell phone light, read:

**Tear strips, rip it up!**

John sighed, leaned back in his seat, and looked up at the orchestra, who was playing a loud section of the music piece. "Of all the pages you could have done, you had to do that one while at a music concert?" He gritted between his teeth.

There was a pause, and John hoped that Sherlock had finished tearing up his book when he heard _rriip_, again.

"That's it!" John hissed, "hand it over, Sherlock!"

Sherlock, in turn, lifted the journal out of his reach like he was a bully on a playground. Again this roused more cries of "SHHH!" from the patrons around him.

"I'm not going to sit here and be even more embarrassed, Sherlock." John growled, and gave him a meaningful glare.

The detective seemed to think for a moment, then shut the book with a quiet snap.

John turned his attention back to the stage and all seemed to calm down between the two friends. That was until he saw the glow of Sherlock's phone again. He leaned over again and read

**Page for an interior monologue.**

"Well, at least it's more quiet than the last one." John muttered under his breath. He'd be interested what Sherlock would write for this. And he hoped that the detective would stay silent for the rest of the concert.

_TBC..._


	33. Chew this Page, Christmas

**A/N: To all my readers, I want to wish you all a Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays!**

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><p>It was an oddly stormy day when John visited Sherlock at 221B, that had made it even colder outside. It was near Christmas, and though he would say no, John wanted to ask Sherlock if he would attend a holiday party with them along with friends. John paused at the staircase when he entered the foray. The detective would have omit friends in his cold, calculating demeanor until the Moriarty incident. It had exposed both his strength and his weakness; opening a proverbial can of worms.<p>

_Maybe it was for the better_, John shrugged and pounded up the steps to the flat that he and Sherlock had shared.

When he threw open the door, he found Sherlock sitting in the middle of the living room, with the journal in his hands and chewing on the page. "Face it, it's not the worst thing you've caught me doing, John."

John chuckled, "No, it's not. I seem to remember when you had gold flake all over the floor in order to find the solution to the Golden Stain." He looked around and then rolled his eyes. "God, that took forever to get up. We certainly had an earful from Mrs. Hudson." John now nodded to the journal, "So what are you doing now?"

Sherlock glanced back down at the paper, "I am trying to decipher how a woman managed to avoid a poisoned ham by her vengeful husband."

"Of course you are." John sighed and sat in his favorite armchair.

Sherlock went back to work, and then paused. "You have something to ask me."

John's eyebrows rose, but then he realized it was Sherlock and figured that his friend knew he was going to ask a question by his body language.

"Yes, actually." John replied, "I was wondering if we could have a little...get together for Christmas here at the flat. You know-" He ticked off people on his fingers, "Me and Mary, Greg and Molly, and Mrs. Hudson of course."

Sherlock shrugged, "Doesn't matter," he said with a wave of his hand. "It would make Mrs. Hudson happy to have you and your fiancee over for Christmas."

Not even a protest from Sherlock. John sat in shock for a moment. His flatmate had changed quite a bit since they last met. "Now you're not going to behave like you did last Christmas, right? No insulting anybody, no sticking to your journal. Actually be sociable this time?"

"Fine!" Sherlock huffed with some vexation. "Whatever!"

That was the best he was going to get from his friend and decided not to push it. This was going to be an interesting party.

* * *

><p>The evening of the party was bitterly cold, and snowflakes were coming down in a soft pattern around London. Sherlock had just finished regaling their guest with <em>White Christmas <em>on his violin_. _

"Well done, Sherlock!" Molly shouted more than a little enthusiastically as the company applauded. Sherlock bowed deftly and carefully put down his violin.

"Now, are we doing the presents thing?" He asked suddenly, and five puzzled glances were shot his way.

"Come on," The detective groused with exasperation, "Isn't this what it's about? This whole _Christmas_ thing?"

"No Sherlock it's actually about-" Mrs. Hudson began but was cut off by Sherlock again.

"Fine. I got you all presents." Sherlock stated flatly. throwing up a hand in frustration. Again there were mouths agape by this statement. Sherlock turned once from the tree to retrieve a bag, then handed each one to their recipient.

There was ripping of paper and it was Lestrade who spoke first, "Thank you, Sherlock!" In his hand was a silver cigarette case with his initials carved into it.

A quiet gasp rose from Molly as she unwrapped her gift. "Oh Sherlock!" She exclaimed softly. She lifted out a necklace from the jewelry box. It was a cog, and she read aloud "To the woman who matter. SH. Thank you, Sherlock!" She kissed him on the cheek.

Next was Mrs. Hudson ripped open a big package that John helped to place on her lap on the sofa. She ripped off the paper, and found a set of brand new cookware.

"Oh, Sherlock! Thank you!" Mrs. Hudson gasped and threw her arms around him in an awkward hug, which he returned.

Finally, it was John and Mary's turn to open the gift bag that Sherlock had given them. When the couple opened it, they found what appeared a slip of paper. Upon reading closer, two pairs of mouths fell open and and they gaped at the detective.

"Well, don't keep us in suspense! " Lestrade laughed while taking a drink.

"It's- a three week cruise to the Mediterranean after our wedding date." John managed to flub.

"I remembered that you mentioned that you both hadn't picked a honeymoon destination." Sherlock affirmed.

Mary put a hand to her mouth, still wide eyes. "Thank you, Thank you so much, Sherlock!"

John chuckled, "Thanks, Sherlock!"

"Merry Christmas John, Mary." The detective grinned.

_TBC..._


	34. Make A Mess, Clean it Up

_A/N: Sorry it took so long to post a new chapter, I really wasn't sure how to set this up. Thanks for all the subscribers and reviewers, as always!_

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><p>As soon as Mary walked in, she felt the tension. Sherlock was at his desk drinking a cup of tea, while John sat on the sofa with his arms crossed and looked rather peeved. He was ignoring the cup of tea that was growing cold on the coffee table.<p>

"John, what's wrong?"

Her fiance didn't say anything, and for a moment she could tell he was stewing with anger. When he finally spoke, it was a quiet, but the tone was dangerous.  
>"We're do in court on Monday. Sherlock got us arrested for stalking his perp, apparently his disguises couldn't hide the fact that he was Sherlock bloody Holmes!"<p>

The inner corners of Mary's lips began to turn up in a smirk, but she soon controlled herself and sighed. "Oh dear Sherlock," She said in a feigned dramatic voice,  
>"I was hoping you'd keep my fiance out of trouble." Sherlock looked up and they both exchanged an amused smile.<p>

"Yeah, thanks for that, mate," John snapped and stood up.

Sherlock just shrugged, "I have evidence to prove my case in court, and that our suspect is guilty of robbing banks all over London, and that he is a low ranking office worker in the government."

At that moment, there was another set of footfalls on the stairs, and Mycroft Holmes appeared in the door frame, looking as cross as John had a moment ago.

"Good afternoon John, Ms. Morstan." Then he turned his attention to his little brother. "Sherlock, I heard you were to be in court on Monday for stalking, care to explain?"

"It's for a case, Mycroft, that's all you need to know." Sherlock hissed, not bothering to look at his sibling.

"Then you can explain to the head of security of Parliament how you managed to disguise yourself as a government official of the Lower House. And in doing so, voted for a bill on poverty!"

Both John and Mary were looking gobsmacked. "You didn't!" John sputtered.

"He did," Mycroft affirmed, "And now thanks to him, the House must reconvene to retake the vote!"

Sherlock just shrugged again, "I did what was best for my country."

"As I said Sherlock, you will be coming with me to explain all this to the House of Lords and security, while I try to smooth it all over."

The detective lazily got up, shrugged on his coat, and went down the stairs. Mycroft nodded his head in goodbye gesture and soon followed.

When Sherlock was out of site, John strolled over to the coffee table and picked up Sherlock's journal, pocketing it in his coat.

"What are you doing, John? He'll be looking for that!" Mary asked.

"Just a little payback for dragging me to court..again." John replied for a smirk.

* * *

><p>When John returned to the flat late in the afternoon the next day (which happened to be Sunday), the flat was indeed in shambles. Papers were tossed everywhere, as were books and other items were flung around the apartment's sitting room. Sherlock was taking out two or three books at a time from the bookshelf that he threw to the floor.<p>

John managed to stifle a laugh as he asked, "What are you doing, Sherlock?"

"Trying to find my journal," growled the detective, "It has important evidence for the case tomorrow and I need it! I take that you have it."

The smile on John's face slipped away. So that was what the gibberish writing was from "Write your Internal monologue" was! "Why would I have it?" John inquired, trying to retain his calm.

"You and Mary were in this room after I left. Mrs. Hudson is visiting her sister, and Mycroft did not stay long enough to obtain it."

John shrugged, can't help you mate, I'm sure you just left it somewhere and forgot."

Sherlock just shot him a look, "What, _I_ would forget where it was?" He bent to the bottom shelf and began to throw the books.  
>"I'd help you look, but I have a feeling that you just misplaced it. Anyway, I have a date with Mary. I'll call you in a few hours."<p>

John waited for Sherlock's back to be turned before he took a picture of the flat. He went halfway down the steps with a normal pace, then rushed down the final ones, pulling out his cell phone to call Mary.

"Mary, I did something really stupid. Sherlock need the journal for his case. Where did we put it?"

* * *

><p>John cautiously went up the stairs when he did not hear any noise from the flat that he and Sherlock had once shared. He knocked, and called out, "Sherlock?"<p>

He stepped inside the flat and was astonished to find Mycroft Holmes sitting in Sherlock's chair.

"Hello John." Mycroft said smoothly. "I gather that you've come back to replace the journal. Don't worry, Sherlock has been sent out to fetch some of that disgusting Chinese food that he likes so much."

John's mouth dropped, "How-"

"I observed it on the coffee table as we left." he remarked, "However, my brother has told me that you didn't take it. I am prepared to tell him that one of my agents did in order to extract evidence after our departure, if you replace the journal now."

John nodded, and placed Sherlock's journal onto the desk and covered it in papers.

"Good." Mycroft said, getting up, "Then I shall take my leave." The portly man was at the door when he stopped and turned around. "My brother trusts you implicitly, you're one of the few he does. I don't suggest you break that trust again."

John nodded solemnly, "It was a practical joke, I didn't know that it had important information in it. And I won't."

"Then I wish you good night, Doctor Watson. And do wish my brother luck on his court case tomorrow."

When the older Holmes brother had departed, John looked about the unkempt house and began to put thing back in their rightful place. When he had finished, John again took a picture of the slightly more tidied rooms and took a picture. He printed them out from the wireless printer that he'd bought over two years ago, and taped both pictures on either side of the 'Make a Mess; Clean it Up' entry, and put "before" and "after".

TBC...


	35. Drip Paint, Grocery List

_a/n: I know it's been a while, sorry about that. Thanks to everyone who reviewed and subscribed. _

_MelodyofSong: Opps, I corrected that. Thanks for pointing it out. _

_lovlymelody: That's not one of the pages, but there is a page that is "figure out more ways to wreck this journal" that he could make that suggestion._

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><p>When John and Mrs. Hudson charged up the stairs, John couldn't help but feel a bit of trepidation. Mrs. Hudson had not heard from Sherlock for nearly three days, and it was oddly quiet in the flat. Not only that, but there was a horrific smell that had wafted down from Sherlock's flat down to Mrs. Hudson's own. It had concerned the landlady so much that she called John.<p>

"Sherlock?" John called as he knocked, "Sherlock are you there?" The pair waited, and then John knocked again, and when he received no answer, opened it and stepped into the flat. The smell of food long abandoned and now rotting, of chemicals that saturated the air, making it suffocating to be in the flat.

They crinkled their noses, wondering what could make the room smell like this.

"Sherlock?" John called, stalking to the kitchen. No one.

He doubled back towards Sherlock's room, only to see Sherlock come out of the bathroom in his bathrobe, toweling down his hair.

"Oh, hello John." Sherlock said nonchalantly.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?!" John demanded, and the detective looked at him puzzled.

"I was taking a shower, a perfectly normal function I believe." Sherlock answered with a shrug.

"No, I mean what's with the smell? Mrs. Hudson can smell it all the way downstairs!" John shouted.

"I was experimenting whether or not the smell of moldy paint could mask the smell of a dead body." Sherlock stated. It was to prove the guilt of a known serial killer." He sniffed the air, "I suppose it is a bit...thick."

"Thick," John snapped, "It's intolerable!" He went to the window in the sitting room and threw it open, allowing air to flow through.

To John's annoyance. Sherlock went over to his journal, which he wrote in. From a distance he could read and see the paint lobbed onto its pages which read: **drip something on this page (ink, paint, tea,etc) close the book to make a print.**

"Remind me not to touch your journal, mate." John muttered and sat down in his old chair, and reached for a discarded newspaper that he had already read that morning.

Sherlock had taken the journal in his hands, and flipped through the pages as he sat on the sofa. He hoped that Sherlock would do something less pungent as he began to read a boring article about the stock exchange. Every once in a while, John saw Sherlock writing in his journal. After a moment, he saw the consulting detective lick his index finger and rub it on the page. John shook his head, not wanting to know, and returned to reading the newspaper.

John was throughly bored with the news article he had written when he heard Sherlock call his name.

He immediately threw down his newspaper, hoping that he had another case that they could solve, "Yeah, Sherlock?"

He heard the ripping of paper that was handed over to him, "Could you get these for me? Take my card."

John looked down at the paper. On top of it, were the words:

**This is page is for grocery lists**

Underneath it were the following:

Hay

Matches

Twine

Milk

Grumbling, John snatched the card from Sherlock's had and stomped out.

TBC...


	36. Insomnia and Three Entrie

**_A/n: I know it's been a long time. My grandma passed away, and I really didn't feel like writing. Then no ideas as to how to do these entries. I hope to get back into the swing of things again. As a treat for your patience, I've done three journal entries this time. Enjoy! Also, thank you for all the reviews and subscriptions. I appreciate it!_**

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><p>John had hoped to crawl into his bed alongside Mary after a long day and tedious day at the surgery.<p>

It was eleven o' clock. The couple had just had shut off the lights next to their beds and Mary had wrapped an arm around him, when John heard his phone go off on the side table. John had popped one eye open and stared at the glowing blue light of his cell phone. For a moment, he thought of ignoring it, but thought that it could be the office calling about an emergency. He picked up the phone and read the text message.

_Sherlock in need of help. -MH_

_-Is he in danger?!-JW_

_-No. -MH_

_-Is he injured? -JW_

_-No, but he is ill. -MH_

_-Ill? How so? -JW _

There was a pause in the transmission and then another beep alerted John to a new message.

**-**_He has insomnia. -MH_

John rolled his eyes, then typed: _Then give him a sedative.-JW_

_You know as well as I that he will not take one, John. Also if he does not sleep, it will lead to migraines. MH_

_-Why don't you go and give him a glass of warm milk then? Why do I have to get up in the middle of the night to coddle him? Surely Mrs. H. could do that.-JW_

_-Mrs. Hudson is off visiting her sister, and I am stuck in a conference between Turkey and Saudi Arabia, otherwise I would. -MH_

_-Fine. -JW_

_-I'm much obliged, John. MH_

John groaned and sat up.

"What's wrong, John?" Mary asked while yawning loudly.

"I have to go to Baker Street. Sherlock has insomnia and Mycroft wants me to try to help him." John explained as he changed into his shirt, trousers, and jacket.

"Well, you go take care of him, and I'll still be here when you get back." She said.

John leaned over and kissed her.

* * *

><p>John knocked at the flat door, and he heard Sherlock call out wearily, "Come in."<p>

He entered, and found the detective laying languidly on the sofa with one arm over his eyes. When he removed it, Sherlock seemed genuinely surprised to see him. "John, what are you doing here?"

John's lips thinned, "Your brother called me because you have insomnia and doesn't want you to get a migraine from it. So I am here to make sure you get off to sleep. "

Sherlock snorted, "What are you going to do, give me a glass of warm milk? I've already tried that."

John slipped off his coat and set it aside. "No, but I'll start with some herbal tea with honey and some biscuits. Sugar helps aid the sleeping process. I'll go into the kitchen to make some, shall I?"

While the tea was boiling, John sat next to Sherlock on the sofa. His eyes caught the journal.

"Haven't worked on it for a few days." Sherlock muttered with something like annoyance.

"Bored with it already?" He replied, and flipped through a few of the pages. "Why don't we try some of the easier entries while we're waiting?" John suggested.

Sherlock shrugged with boredom but didn't take his eyes off the journal.

"Here's one: **Trace your hands**. I reckon it doesn't have to be fancy." John cajoled and picked up the pen next to it. Muttering at how stupid and juvenile this prompt was, Sherlock grudgingly allowed his hands to be traced by John.

"There, one down." John announced, and continued to flip through the pages until he spotted another uncompleted prompt.

He found one that caught his eye just as the kettle began to whistle.

**Make a funnel and drink from it. **

"I'll just take this one, shall I?" John asked, and tore out the page before Sherlock had said anything.

Going to the kitchen, John formed the funnel and put it together with cello-tape that he knew Sherlock kept in a random drawer. Filling it with tea, the doctor also squirted in some honey, then poured a cup for himself. John gathered the (luckily) new biscuits that Mrs. Hudson had bought on a plate and returned to his spot in the living room.

He handed Sherlock the proffered funnel, which made the detective's eyebrows knot with some dismay. "Never know till you try it, mate." John grunted all the while taking sips from his own teacup. Sherlock downed the drink in a few gulps, crumpled the funnel, and tossed it over his left shoulder before reaching for some biscuits.

"You know, Mrs. Hudson would have a fit if she saw that."

"Luckily, she's not here." Breathed Sherlock taking another biscuit and leaning back onto a small sofa pillow.

"Here's one, **Write backwards**." John put forth and handed the journal to Sherlock.

"Amateurish, any moron could do that." Sherlock complained, but didn't object to taking the pen, placing the book against his knees, and writing rather rapidly. John chuckled as he picked up the dishes, went into the kitchen and washed them.

There was silence for a little while, and John couldn't help but feel slightly uneasy. He turned his head to see that Sherlock's chin was resting on his chest, the journal dangling a mere few inches off the floor from his fingers. John finished the dishes, then went back into the sitting room to place a throw blanket on the now sleeping detective. John gently pried it out of his hands and read it. It looked like his graduate chemist dissertation from college.

"Way to outdo everyone, Sherlock." John breathed, and placed it on the coffee table.

He carefully made his exit, not wanting to wake Sherlock as he went out. When John was on the stairwell, he texted back Mycroft.

_Mission accomplished. Sherlock is asleep. For future reference, herbal tea with honey and biscuits seem to be the catalyst. -JW_

_I will endeavor to remember that. My thanks. -MH_

TBC...


	37. Hospital and two entries (part 1)

A/N: I know it's been a long time and I'm sorry. I've gotten involved in other projects and have kind of been at a stand still with this story in terms of ideas. I have to note that there are only about 10 or so more to go.

P.S Thank you for the condolences, I appreciate it.

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><p>John stormed into 221B with all due fury and glanced about the flat. Sherlock had nearly died. John could not help but remember the sight of the detective laying on the floor of Magunsenn's apartment shot in the chest. It had been touch and go for a while, and having heard that Sherlock had died on the table had made John even more angry at the detective for charging ahead of him while he cared for Janine's wounds. He was still puzzled as to why Sherlocks's first word, when he woke, was "Mary". After being woke from a medical induced coma, Sherlock's first complaint was that he was in pain, and the other was that he was bored.<p>

As his friend was convalescing in hospital, John had readily agreed to fetch some of Sherlock's things from the flat (also in an attempt to stop the detective from complaining his boredom every five minutes).

John went into the bathroom to get Sherlock's toothbrush and razor, which he stuffed into a canvas bag, along with some other essential toiletries. That done, he returned to the living room and gathered Sherlock's computer and sudoku puzzle. He paused a moment to find his journal sitting on the far left of the computer. He wondered if it was even sanitary to bring the book along considering all the experiments that Sherlock had done in them. John shrugged, it would keep the detective busy for a while at any rate.

John spotted a small piece of fluff sticking out of the top right corner of the journal and opened it to the page which read

**Collect Pocket Lint and Glue it to this Page. **

Underneath this were three tufts of lint with the names "John," "Mrs. H." and Lestrade_, _and below this were the following notes:

_John has eaten at the restaurant in the past two days and accidentally left a fiver in his pocket. _

_Mrs. Hudson's cat has been shedding of late. She kept a small memento of her latest bo's __Lestrade has had a cold in the past few days and has taken up with a 33-year-old woman that is prematurely greying._

John shook his head and decided not to ask himself how he got Lestrade's pocket" lint, or why the police officer would have a piece of his girlfriend's hair in his pocket. "Are is the question why," he breathed, glancing around one more time to check if he had gotten everything. He shuddered at the sight of the fireplace and the memory of Magnusenn, before he shuddered and left the flat.

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><p>When John returned to the hospital room, he found Sherlock slightly more conscious than he'd left him though still looking rather well...out of it.<p>

"Sherlock," John called and placed a hand on his shoulder. Glazed hazel eyes swung to him and a goofy grin spread across the detective's face.

"Joohn..." Sherlock crooned and broke into a giggle "Johnny Boooy.."

John winced remembering when Moriarty called him that. "Sherlock. I guess I don't have to ask how you're feeling, mate."

Sherlock broke into an odd giggle, "Emm...nooo."

If the situation was not so serious, John would have snickered at Sherlock's obvious loopiness. Instead, he pulled out the journal and placed it on the tray table next to his friend, setting aside the other things as Sherlock was not in a condition which he could use his computer.

"I brought your journal," John said, "Thought it might occupy your time here, which going by your injury, will be a while."

"Thaank you, Joohn." Sherlock returned as he limply flipped the pages until he found and empty one. Sherlock put his nose to it and read aloud, "draw..lines...with your...pen...or...pencil. Lick.. your... finger...and...smear the lines." His head lifted for a moment. "Have a pen Joohn?"

John glanced around to find one on the side table, which he placed next to the detective.

Sherlock slopily scribbled all over the page before dipping his fingers into the plastic cup of water next to him, then licking his own fingers before pressing them over the pen marks on the page. This done, Sherlock set aside the pen and stretched with a yawn. His eyes were at half mast as he glanced at his friend.

"Alright mate, I think that's enough fun for one night." John decreed as he closed the journal and set it aside. "Time for you to rest."

To his surprise, Sherlock didn't argue, laying back and closing his eyes, the detective was asleep within minutes.

Finally, John allowed himself a chuckle, suddenly wishing that he had taken a video of this.

TBC...


	38. Hospital II

**A/N: Thank you so much for the subs, faves and reviews. **

**ScholarofImagination: Thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. **

**RoseJustice: I highly recommend. The journal is quite fun and a little challenging. **

**Icecat: Probably why they didn't though, couldn't have him loopy so much. =)**

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><p>Sherlock had been put into the hospital-again. His umbrage for his friend's escape act was only matched by actions of his wife. He'd not spoken to Mary since Sherlock's collapse at Baker Street. John had decided to stay at his old lodging until he could work out whatever the hell he was suppose to do now.<p>

Tonight, rather than stay in oppressive silence (except for the humming of Mrs. Hudson who was cleaning and sanitizing the kitchen), John walked around the streets of London. It had been close to midnight when he found himself standing in front of the hospital where Sherlock was no doubt climbing the walls. It was luckily that on top of being a doctor, Mycroft had the pull so that he could visit Sherlock whatever the hour. The detective had been moved from ICU to a private ward on the fourth floor since his surgery to repair the internal bleeding that had come from gallivanting all over London.

When the elevator doors opened to that particular floor, he noted that the nurses were all seated at their desk, two with their feet up, with a doughnut in one hand, and a coffee in the other. They righted themselves when they saw John.

"Ah-hello, Doctor Watson!" an older blond woman with more wrinkles than was probably fair for her age sputtered, "How are you this evening?"

"Fine, thanks. How's Sherlock?"

"Mr. Holmes is resting comfortably." A dark-skinned male nurse with the name-tag "Roger" replied after a sip of coffee. "That journal of his seems to be warding off some of his...impatience about staying in the hospital."

"You know, he was the one that got us these," Another lithe looking ginger woman whose name was Ellie continued and held up the doughnut, "He wanted office supplies for his journal in exchange. We weren't about to refuse. I suspect that his brother had something to do with it too."

"Well, you all enjoy, and save me one if there's any left," John laughed, "Is he awake?"

"Last time we checked, Doctor Watson." Ellie responded, "I hope he has more of those journal entries, it might help keep him out of trouble."

"You have no idea how much trouble that journal has gotten him into." John groaned before he thanked them and headed to Sherlock's room.

True to their word, Sherlock was sitting upright in bed, with the tray filled with staplers, paper clips, tape, post-it notes, and other items close by. Sherlock was just about to glue down a pencil when he looked up, "Good evening, John. You're here rather late."

"Good..." he paused and looked around at the hallway awkwardly, "good. Having fun with your project?" He inquired and stepped closer to look at the page which read, **Fill this page with office supplies.**

Sherlock shrugged, "keeps me busy." He was placing paper clips and nail files in a mathematics pattern that John could not remember ever studying.

John could not help but allow a small smile. Sherlock seemed to be returning to his ordinary annoying self. Sherlock's movements were still slow, but gradually returning to the detective.

flipping over a few pages, John read the next entry:

**Do a really ugly drawing of an really ugly subject matter.**

John watched as Sherlock filled in the page with flowers, sunshine, smiley faces, and in one corner, scout helping an old woman across the road.

"Really Sherlock, that's nice!" John snorted.

Much to John's annoyance, Sherlock began to peel off the medical stickers plastered to his chest as he flipped through the pages.

"Sherlock, what the bloody hell are you doing?!" John demanded, bolting to from his seat to force Sherlock's hands away from them.

Sherlock nodded to the page which read, **Fill Page with Sticky Things. **

"I don't think they meant heart monitor stickers, Sherlock," groused, while sitting back in the visitor's chair. "Look, I'll get you a lolly from the kid's ward, or a damn stick of gum, but don't take those things off. Why don't you get some kip? It's well past 1 am and you need to be resting or your brother just might chuck me in the Tower of London." He pushed aside the tray table, but took up the journal in his hands, remembering an entry that would be perfect.

"Here, you can do this one tomorrow morning." It said: **Sleep with the journal, record the experience here. **

Sherlock huffed, and turned over with the book in his hand, while John wished him goodnight, and shut off the overhead light.

The next morning, John awoke to find the journal on the exact page held open by a stapler. It read, in big letters.

"SLEPT 6 HOURS, NORMAL PATTERN OF REM SLEEP. BORING."

Chuckling, John looked over to find the detective still asleep.

_TBC..._

A/N: Do you want to hear something funny? I actually did that! I put my heart monitor stickers from my cardiologist appointment into the "Sticky Things" entry of the WTJ.


	39. One Last Entry (END)

_A/N: I am sorry that this is so late coming, I got a new tablet that I subsequently broke (yeah, brilliant!) AND managed to lose the file that had all the entries. I am sorry to say that I have finished most of the journal, and so this is the final chapter of this story.__ I'm so glad that you all enjoyed reading it. Also, please check out the poll and vote on what I should write next.  
><em>

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><p>The day was fairly overcast on the tarmac in the first week of January. The private plane was waiting to spirit it's passenger off to a distant country. John and Mary arrived in a high class car that they probably would never afford. As the pair piled out, they both saw Mycroft and Sherlock already waiting near the aeroplane, with black suited men next to them.<p>

"You will look after him, won't you?" Sherlock asked Mary, with a tone that was almost from a child.

Mary had hugged Sherlock and promised to keep John in trouble, before stepping aside to let he and her husband talk.

The detective turned to his brother, "Since this is likely to be the last conversation I'll have with John Watson, do you mind if we take a moment?" There was no malice or arrogance in his voice, just a quiet request.

"Of course," Mycroft answered, nodding his head to the guards, who moved off so that the two friends could speak together.

John nodded to him, but didn't say anything for a moment or two, then clearing his throat, "So here we are."

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes." Sherlock spouted.

"Sorry?" John glanced at him, puzzled.

"That's the whole of it," Sherlock elaborated, "If you were looking for baby names."

John laughed, remembering saying the exact thing to him during the Adler case. "No, we had a scan, and pretty sure it's a girl."

"Oh," was the whispered response, but Sherlock smiled all the same.

There was an awkward silence, and John found himself looking around, looking at anything than Sherlock. His friend had been kinder, even more caring the past year than John had ever imagined he could be in the time he'd known the detective.

"Yeah...I don't know what to say."

"Neither do I," Sherlock admitted cooly.

John inched closer so that he could not be overheard, "The game is over."

"The game is never over, John." Sherlock stated flatly, fixing him with a steely look. There would be other cases, other problems to solve. "But there may be some new players now. It's okay. The East Wind takes us all in the end."

John looked at him, slightly puzzled, "What's that?"

"It's a story my brother told me when we were kids. The East Wind – this terrifying force that lays waste to all in its path.  
>It seeks out the unworthy ... <em>" <em>He met John's eyes "... and plucks them from the Earth. That was generally _me."  
><em>

John snorted with laughter, "Nice!"

"Basically he was a rubbish big brother." Sherlock concluded. They both smiled, but silence ensued again.

"So, Where are you going now, exactly?" John inquired.

He could tell that Sherlock was acting bored, "Oh, some undercover work in Eastern Europe."

"For how long?"

Sherlock didn't look him in the eyes, but just above his head, " Six months, my brother estimates. He's never wrong."

John couldn't imagine, what "undercover work" Sherlock could be doing, as he finally had been told by Mycroft of what had happened in the three years he had been gone. "And then what?"

Sherlock shrugged, "Who knows?"

That was very unsettling to John, as he wouldn't hear from his friend again. He almost said, 'You need to take care of yourself', but knew there would be no guarantee when doing such work. He had seen men who had come back from undercover missions worse for wear both in mind and body. He looked away for a minute, unable to fathom what Sherlock would have to endure again.

"John, there's something ... I should say; I-I've _meant_ to say always and then never have. Since it's unlikely we'll ever meet again, I might as well say it now." Sherlock stammered, almost unable to grip the reality of leaving.

This had gotten his attention again. John had so many things he wanted to say, but it was masculine pride that kept it locked within him. He knew that this was goodbye, and he couldn't muster up the words to thank Sherlock for all he had done for him and Mary, even if the death of Magnussum meant exile for the detective. Most of all, he wanted to thank Sherlock for being the best, if not the most unusual friend that he had in his life.

Sherlock took a deep breath, "Sherlock's actually a girl's name."

John chuckled, "It's not."

Sherlock's shoulders rose, "It was worth a try." Sherlock answered halfheartedly.

"We're not naming our daughter after you." John remarked.

"I think it could work." Sherlock joked.

They ceased speaking, not able to think of anything to say to one another, for all the sentiment that either could tolerate.

Sherlock pulled something out of his coat, and handed it to John. It was his _Wreck This Journal. _"Keep it. With my compliments. Thank you, for the distraction." He nodded to it.

"After all the chemicals and weird stuff you put in it?" John teased, looking at the edges of the paper. "Thanks mate. I want a smelly journal around the house." John got closer, "You ought to give it to Mycroft." He giggled.

"Ah, he wouldn't appreciate it as much, I'm afraid." responded Sherlock with a wicked grin.

There was one page that was bookmarked. Sherlock glanced at it, "Open it."

On the page was the prompt: "Crumple this page and throw it into a neighbor's yard (return if possible) with a picture of a tree and a picket fence. Within the space, Sherlock had written in a messy scrawl, 'to my flatmate John, who put up with experiments and shenanigans that others would not have done within this book."

John chuckled, "That's for damn sure."

"To the very best of times, John." Sherlock said kindly, pulling off his glove and holding out his hand for his friend to shake. "Farewell, John."

And with that, the detective boarded the private, and was gone.

THE END.


End file.
